


O' to be an Occlumens

by Cerrone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:38:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerrone/pseuds/Cerrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione comes face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange in the Ministry of Magic. </p><p>-Written in 2011-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A monochrome of cerulean churned before her eyes, stretching out in every direction. Towering above her, row upon row, sat glassy orbs. She was sure these spheres of mist questioned the darkness as much as she did, when no one was around to do it for them. Hermione heard whispers, from somewhere - from Harry. In his palm his fingers wrapped forcefully around a sphere, within it she saw swirling, and light, though it was not strong enough to illuminate them, it only seemed to suck the light into itself, perhaps so it might treasure the light and save it for later when the orb would be back in it’s infinitely dark surrounds, leaving them all bathed in a ceaseless shade of blue which was pouring from her own Lumos. Either side of the group were seemingly endless aisles which dissolved into blackness, for a moment Hermione feared that they might go on forever, in increasingly dark arteries of glass orbs. There was a strange chill surrounding her, she struggled to recall if she had felt it the entire time they were here, in The Department of Mysteries, Hermione sighed and attributed it instead to her newfound idleness. The blackness before her suddenly began to shift and squirm, like a puddle of ink, she strained her eyes to focus as a shimmer of light bounced back at her. Larger it grew until the shimmer’s revealed form sent a shiver down her spine. The sickening metallic mask of a Death Eater ogled back at her from the darkness.

“Harry!” Ginny called from beside her.

Before she could react Harry was standing in front of the group, with his wand raised. Lucius Malfoy effervesced from under his mask of metal and began talking in a tone rich with arrogance, she wouldn’t have expected anything less. Hermione found it hard to let her gaze linger on Lucius, not because of the platinum haired bigot himself, but something else. She searched the darkness around that disgusting man, but found nothing. Curiosity came over her as she questioned what she might have hoped to be in the blackness with Lucius, everyone she cared about was standing within arms reach of her. Everyone save her Professors and parents, but she knew exactly where they were at this moment. Who then could it be that she was searching for down the blue-black aisle she asked herself.

“…come any closer and I’ll break it.” She heard Harry mutter.

And then, then, Hermione heard something which she hadn’t heard before, something which she hadn’t expected to hear inside The Department of Mysteries. She heard laughter, but it was sharp and cruel. Regardless of it’s emotion Hermione could hardly avoid the laughter filling her ears and evoking a certain quickening within her.

“He knows how to play!” The words came echoing around her, wrought with the same sharpness and cruelty as the laughter.

She thought she should be scared, she should be wary, but the only emotion flowing through her body was curiosity, she longed to see the owner of that voice. Hermione knew they’d be a Death Eater, she knew it would be Bellatrix Lestrange - Narcissa’s voice had never sounded so sharp and cruel, even when it was cursing her blood status. Hermione thought she should be disgusted at the woman, after all she had done in both service to the Dark Lord and in service to her infamously sadistic tendencies. No matter how much she thought she should be afraid or disgusted, she wasn’t. ‘Perhaps,’ she thought to herself, ‘seeing her face, seeing into her eyes, will change that.’ Here, Hermione stood patiently for what felt like an equally dark eternity, much like the orbs around her had experienced, waiting for the lithe figure to slither out of the blackness.

“…itty, bitty, baby… Potter.”

Hermione saw the darkness around Lucius shift and churn until it was occupied by something else. A blueness fell across the figure there, just as it had everything else, Bellatrix Lestrange. The sight of her was like a dagger to Hermione who felt betrayed within her self and to her friends for letting her eyes graze over the woman for perhaps a little too long. She felt indescribably drawn to Bellatrix’s dark hair and luminescent skin, which looked all too pale. Hermione was frightened then, not of the murderer in front of her but instead of the feelings she was suddenly unable to control, of the adrenaline coursing through her body at the moment she caught sight of Bellatrix.

She stood next to Lucius, who was suddenly invisible to her, with an air of confidence mixed with sexuality, with lust and desire. Hermione was quietly horrified at her newfound adoration of the woman, something which before tonight would have seemed completely impossible to her. Here, she let her mouth fall open, or rather, her mouth voluntarily fell open, only a little as she found her need for breath suddenly increased. Bellatrix looked now how she had expected her to, after seeing her screaming photo in the newspaper when she’d escaped from Azkaban. No, that woman had been ragged and desperate. This woman, however, was no longer ragged, though her hair was wild and uncontrolled, and she was certainly not desperate. Bellatrix’s dark eyes scanned slowly over the group in front of her, lingering only for a second on each of them. Hermione saw the dark and glassy spheres lull toward her, agonisingly slowly, for a moment she envied her friends, she wanted Bellatrix’s gaze to only rest on her. ‘What am I thinking!’ Hermione thought to herself, shocked at her own musings. Closer the eyes came, it wouldn’t be long now. She swallowed hard in anticipation as Bellatrix’s eyes came to Neville - she would be next. Her pulse pounded in her ears, throbbing through her entire body like a drum beat. Here, time slowed to an aching pace as the witch’s gaze dragged over the space between her and Neville. At last the eyes she had wanted so desperately on her, for a reason she was unable to produce, came to rest within her own for a moment as Hermione’s whole world blurred together and became foggy at the edges. Bellatrix’s dark eyes locked with hers knowingly, Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat as the gentle rise and fall of her chest became somewhat erratic, trying desperately to process what was happening to her body - and to her mind.

“Bellatrix Lestrange…” Neville slurred from beside her, tearing Bellatrix’s gaze from her own.

“Neville Longbottom is it? How’s mum and dad?” She chimed happily.

Here, Neville took a step forward, his great frame obscuring Bellatrix from Hermione’s view. Silently and unconsciously she cursed him for that. As Neville spoke his speech melded together, until Hermione could no longer distinguish words from groans and she could hardly distinguish groans from silence. Bellatrix… Bellatrix.. The name laved her mind, she could think of nothing else as images of the woman pervaded her thoughts. With Neville’s body blocking out the light she fell into shadow, where she couldn’t decide which way was up. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. She hated Neville in that moment for smothering her and stealing away her Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione hardly recognised herself. Suddenly she was plunged into light and into clarity when Neville stepped back, allowing her once again to pour her eyes over the witch in front of her.

Bellatrix now had her wand raised, pointed at Neville. What had he said? She didn’t know. Nor did she care as she looked over the enormous poise and eloquence Bellatrix commanded as she held the gnarled wand in her long and sinewy fingers. Hermione’s eyes fell from Bellatrix’s and drifted down her face, following the stern line of her jaw and travelling down over her neck, and over her chest until her gaze pooled in the passage between her breasts. Her hearing became fogged again, Harry spoke but she could scarcely understand him. Her ears, instead, picked up what came from Bellatrix’s lips, a whisper as delicate as gossamer caressed her ears, from a distance it was cold and sharp but she imagined it, then, as hot and thick as molasses while Bellatrix’s lips were pressed firmly against her ear, this thought sent shivers flowing through her body - humming and collecting in her abdomen. The witch’s voice now turned to a shout, her power left Hermione awestruck, never before had she felt like this and she wasn’t quite sure whether it was right. In fact, she knew it wasn’t.

She was torn from her thoughts as she felt Ginny’s hand on her arm, alerting Hermione to the other Death Eaters who had sprung from the darkness and were now surrounding them. Raising her wand defensively toward the advancing foes she couldn’t help but flicker her gaze between the Death Eaters and Bellatrix, who was once again looking at her, as if devouring her youth and morality. On any other occasion Hermione Granger would have felt positively disgusted, revolted, even, that this Death Eater was making her feel so strange and perhaps even, that she was enjoying it. Here, Bellatrix’s mouth slid open as she sucked her own lip into it and nibbled it lightly, undoubtedly the older witch could see the effect her actions were having on this young girl and enjoyed tormenting her. Hermione was forced to look away and return her attention to the advancing pair of Death Eaters who no doubt meant her harm. Her gaze again flickered back to Bellatrix, who was still looking at her right in the eyes, though this time with a smug look wrought across her face as she took step after step closer to the group making Hermione shudder uncontrollably.

Suddenly spells began flowing from her wand as her lips formed ‘Stupefy’ over and over, beneath her her legs shifted and began to run, with Ron and Harry next to her. They ran past endless aisles of cerulean orbs, reaching up into the darkness. Behind her she could hear Ginny, Luna and Neville each casting Stupefy and the sound of glass breaking as spells collided with prophecies. A plume of black smoke began to float next to Harry, millions of black particles suffocating the trio until he warded the Death Eater off with a Stupefy of his own. Here the three turned a corner into another aisle of endless orbs and darkness. Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest and her lungs heaving desperately to haul enough oxygen into her body. She looked behind her for a moment and saw another black plume charging after them, as it got closer she could feel the cold emanating off it tangle into her hair. The smoke nipped at her heels and wrapped itself around her waist, for a moment it felt almost as if someone had touched her. The blackness danced at the side of her vision, she could feel it clinging to her back and chilling the flesh there, she tried to run faster to escape it - to escape Bellatrix - but it was faster than she could ever hope to be. Up ahead Harry called out that there was a door and Hermione felt instantly relieved, the sooner she got away from Bellatrix the better, anything to stop her feeling the way she did. Closer to the door now, close enough to see it. She felt the smoke around her neck, it felt like hands, like slender fingers, and it was warm. She felt the warmth move from her neck to her ear where it manifested itself as a voice, her voice.

“I know you want this.” Bellatrix’s voice came hot and wet against her ear, had she not been running and already out of breath she would have surely moaned and for that she was grateful.

Ahead she saw Ron and Harry disappear through the door, she longed to disappear too and surged forward, freeing herself from within Bellatrix’s grasp. Passing through the door she was suddenly met with a sinking feeling, as she hurtled through nothingness. Echoing all around her she heard screams, the screams of her friends as they fell through the nothingness with her. While she fell she could only think of one thing, Bellatrix. She had touched her, ‘her arms around my waist…’ Hermione thought. She was confused then, how Bellatrix had heard her thoughts, perhaps it was the way she’d looked at the witch which had betrayed her. She came to a jerking halt inches above the floor with the sprawled out bodies of her friends all held by an invisible force for a moment, and then dropped onto the ashen ground beneath them.

After a few incomprehensible moments Hermione found herself once again hurtling through the air with black smoke pervading her every sense. Though this time it’s embrace felt different and she knew that this Death Eater wasn’t Bellatrix. As sharply as it had started, the rushing stopped again and Hermione was standing in the captive embrace of a Death Eater, she struggled against their hold on her but it was no use. She looked around, to her left and to her right, and found that Bellatrix was standing only meters away from her, with Neville at her mercy. Silently, she cursed him again as she noticed Bellatrix wasn’t focused on the squirming boy in her arms but instead she was looking at Hermione, with the same smirk across her lips. The witch raised her eyebrow and Hermione was forced to look away, refusing to acknowledge the blush rising in her cheeks, or at least, not willing to show it to Bellatrix. She saw Harry talking to Lucius, she saw him hand over the prophecy they had almost died to get, and then the whole room began to spin. It began to spin and flash with Aurors gliding through the air as luminescent trails of vapour, she felt the cold grip on her arms fade as an Auror prised her from his grip. Suddenly she found herself standing on the other side of the enclave, Bellatrix nowhere to be seen, presumably she was one of the plumes of smoke now feverishly spiralling above her head.

Spells began to erupt from the Death Eater’s wands with a ferocity which was barely matched by the Aurors and her friends as she heard Bellatrix’s cackle echo above her. For a split second she lost focus on the fight at hand and searched the ceiling for the dark witch. When she turned her attention back to the fight it was too late and a coloured jet shot right at her, hitting her in the head and knocking her to the ground, but only for a moment as everything turned a shade of blue.


	2. Chapter 2

The silt of the ground pressed coolly against her cheek, beneath her fingers she felt it urge her upright. And so she stood, while spells from the Death Eaters were reflected by the Aurors and bounced off the walls, taking fractured tiles with them. Suddenly she felt a solid hand on her back, she flinched for a moment - believing it to belong to Bellatrix - before she saw the impossibly white light pooling around her feet, it’s powdery essence climbing quickly up her legs.

“Hermione, you’re hurt!” Tonks’s voice cut through the violence surrounding her and pressed itself to her ears. She had always felt a certain affinity to the witch and was glad she was the one to come and help her, as she was now suddenly aware of a hot wet feeling on her forehead where the spell had collided with her skull.

“Tonks.. I…” Hermione didn’t know what she was about to say, horrified she might admit her new found attraction to Bellatrix Lestrange she let Tonks cut her off.

“Hold onto me, you don’t want to get splinched as well!” Tonks shrouded Hermione with her own body, through her clothes she could feel the roughness of the witch’s coat and gloves.

Hermione felt reluctant for a moment not wanting to leave her friends, or to leave Bellatrix, her eyes madly scanning around the hall in vain. She wanted to see the dark witch again, not knowing when they would meet next, she would savour and treasure any glimpse of her she could. Startled by her own thoughts Hermione was unaware of her own hands reaching out and firmly holding onto Tonks as a familiar and stomach churning spinning washed over her. She felt like she was going to be sick and she would have been if the spinning of apparation hadn’t pushed her stomach into her toes.

 

* * *

 

“Now Hermione, dear, I’ve treated the wound on your head with some Wiggenweld Potion which has taken away the wound itself but being hit with a spell like that will definitely make you feel ill, so if anything of that sort should start to affect you - you must come back and see me!” Here Madam Pomfrey turned to Tonks, lowering her voice so it became muffled to the slightly bleary Hermione.

“Now, Nymphadora,” Tonks cringed at the use of her first name, “she’s taken quite a hit and I recommend that we keep her here over the winter break and in light of what’s happened at the Ministry I believe that the walls of Hogwarts will keep her safer than those of Grimmauld Place.” Madam Pomfrey’s blue eyes earnestly soothed Tonks’ worries.

“What ever you think would be best, I know she’ll probably try to get ahead of next years classes - with all that free time.” Tonks joked.

“We shall have to make sure that she doesn’t push herself too hard, after a knock like that she’ll need plenty of rest. I think we’ve done all we can for her here,” She continued, “would you be so kind, Nymphadora, to take Miss Granger to the Gryffindor dormitories?” Here, Madam Pomfrey gently nodded her head and walked to the other side of the ward, replacing the potions she’d used on Hermione back in the cupboard.

Walking over to Hermione, who was perched on the edge of an immaculately made bed, Tonks smiled warmly and spoke with a sunny tone. “C’mon Hermione, let’s get you upstairs.”

Tonks extended her hand and Hermione took it gladly, hoisting herself off the bed and smoothing her hands over her jeans when she was standing. Around her brilliant white light spluttered in through the massive glass panes bonded to each of the stone walls. Through the glass she could see the roof tops of the walls surrounding Hogwarts’ inner courtyard, and beyond that she could see endless hills stretching out in every direction. Turning back to face Tonks, the witch had turned and was heading towards the battered wooden door of the Hospital Wing with it’s metal latches, her shadow crawling across the stone floor at twice her natural height. Through this door stretched out a tremendous hallway, with beams of light streaming through their indefinable windows. However, the two didn’t go down this corridor and instead took a right turn into a much darker room which led to a tight coil of staircase, which sank down into the floor, curling and circling around a stony pillar as all measure of time sank along with them into the castle.

“No matter how many times I walk around this castle it always seems as if new corridors sprout out of nowhere, it’s like a labyrinth. Hey Hermione?” Tonks darted down the stairs with familiarity as Hermione struggled to judge which way was up as her feet slipped over the stony ledges.

Hogwarts seemed different to her now, it’s walls looked colourless and the light pouring through it’s windows was harsh and white, as if she hadn’t seen sunlight years. Here they came to the bottom of the stairwell, which opened up into a room lined with wood and old, worn rugs on the floor curling around the bend in the room cutting out their next path towards another flight of stairs. Tonks walked faster than Hermione, reaching the stairs before the younger witch did and her coat billowed out behind her as she descended the stairs with ease. At the back of this curved room was another wooden door, which opened silently on it’s hinges onto the Grand Staircase, it’s massiveness never ceased to leave Hermione in awe, thousands of ogling portraits looking down at them as they climbed higher and higher on the constantly shifting flights of stairs. Tonks stopped momentarily and turned to face her:

“At least all these stairs will keep Dumbledore’s Army in fighting form.” She said brightly.

The stairs seemed endless as they rose from the fifth floor to the sixth, and from the sixth floor to the seventh. Finally, the golden portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room was in sight and Hermione felt immensely relieved.

 

* * *

 

The few minutes between passing through the Fat Lady’s portrait and standing in front of her bed with Tonks were completely wiped from her memory, as if they’d never occurred or she hadn’t been there to experience them. She had trouble recalling, then, even what the Fat Lady looked like, or what the password to the common room was. Placing it on her recent head injury Hermione thought nothing of it and turned her attention back to Tonks who had noticed the sudden change in the girl’s expression.

“Everything alright ‘mione?” Tonks asked, in her usual slightly deep and raspy voice.

For a split second Hermione’s thoughts turned to Bellatrix and to the events at the Department of Mysteries, those cerulean moments where she couldn’t control her paroxysmal heart as it pounded beneath her ribs at the sight of sadism personified.

“Y-yes.” She finally spluttered out.

“Well, if you’re sure. Remember if you feel sick or anything make sure you go and see Madam Pomfrey, I know the old bird’s a bit frightening, but she knows her stuff.” Tonks’s lips stretched as a smile came across her face.

Hermione’s eyes waywardly drifted down to rest on the soft mauve of the older witch’s lips, an overwhelming desire came over her to either reach out and touch the soft strips of flesh or to capture them between her own lips. Instantly, she felt disgusted within herself, she felt infinitely loyal to Bellatrix - somehow - and to think those things about another… woman was awful. As if a surveyor to her own internal dialogue, Hermione became more confused than she was at the Ministry, first she had almost risked her life simply to look at an infamously sadistic witch and now here she found her friend, her friend, remarkably attractive. She had never been interested in girls before, though she hadn’t particularly been interested in Ronald either, and now she wanted two at once. Though not at the same time. Hermione unconsciously sighed and Tonks smirked at the obvious attention the younger witch was paying to her lips, she’d caught the auburn haired girl looking before, but never so overtly.

“I’ve got to get back to the Ministry now Hermione, would you like me to come back later maybe and see how you’re going?” Tonks asked, still smirking.

“No, thank you. Really, I’ll be fine.” Hermione saw through Tonks’s thinly veiled proposition and restrained herself not to express her anger physically, she didn’t want Tonks, and even if she did she would only be a way to release her frustrations. She wanted Bellatrix. She only want- Once again her own thoughts horrified her, her own anger scared her and she didn’t know where it had come from. Here was Tonks, seeing her to her bed after she got hit with a spell at the Ministry of Magic and she could hardly stand to be around her for a second longer, she loved and hated her at the same time. She wanted her to leave and stay in the same moment and was desperately confused. Hermione felt, at her temple, an enormous pain throbbing in time with her flurried heart beats and she felt the need to sit down. She felt the need to lay down and sleep.

“You sure you’re alright Hermione?” Tonks placed a hand on her shoulder and all of Hermione’s anger evaporated in an instant.

“I think.. I think I just need to sleep.” She replied, shakily.

“Of course, I’ll leave you to rest.”

As Hermione slid down onto the bed Tonks rubbed her shoulder, making her feel achingly guilty for her anger moments ago.

From between the muffled sheets Hermione heard Tonks apparate out of the dormitory, leaving her in silence and leaving her to think about what’s happened to her head.

Bellatrix. The name sounded familiar to her, almost as if it were her own name, or at least a name she’d heard hundreds of times. The darkness at the ministry had been incomprehensible and yet, it had all seemed so clear. The way her thoughts were returned to her seemed in want of tearing her in half, everything she thought was met with opposition by another thought and they all swirled around in her sick making her feel sick, or was that her head injury? Hermione Granger, needless to say, hated feeling confused. She had tried to approach the situation logically, with thought and reason, to no avail. What had intrigued her about that particular dark witch? She wasn’t especially beautiful, nor did Hermione get a close look at her. But she was especially beautiful, and she did get a close look at her. In the back of her mind when Bellatrix’s smoke had engulfed her. Hermione’s head rebutted back at her with vehemence. Her head was getting out of control and she decided the only way to quell it’s rumblings was with sleep.

Five little words circled over and over in her head as she drifted off to sleep, it was hardly a sentence but she knew it would carry across into her dreams.

“I know you want this.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione awoke to silence. She thought it strange, then, that silence had woken her when for so long she’d craved this very same silence to sleep. She could hear the blood flowing in her ears as a muffled hiss, each breath she drew scraped in past her nostrils and poured down the back of her throat and only moments later was forced out again in a flurry. Around the dormitory each object and piece of furniture seemed to exude it’s own set of nocturnal noises, each had their own set of creaks and quiet murmurs. Hermione understood then how she’d been woken up by silence. Her legs ached and were stiff as she tried to move them beneath the weight of her quilt, wounds she didn’t know she had suddenly sprouted from every limb, rendering her practically immobile. Slowly, slowly she began to shift and stir, first dragging a slender white leg through her bed sheets until her toes came to rest and pool slightly against the hard wood floor. Hermione rubbed her face with her hands, slowly kneading out any traces of restfulness as she prepared to hoist herself from the bed. ‘Silence..’ she thought, it was unusually quiet for this time of morning, was it still morning? A layer of grey clouds smothered all signs of sunlight and everything felt as if suspended in stillness. She pushed, then, with her hands gripping the sides of the bed, herself into an upright position and the balls of her heels smacked gently against the hard floor. Everything felt slow, as if her whole world had been immersed in water and the light was struggling to swim through the murky depths, smothering her, drowning her. All the beds around her were neatly made and trunks which usually sat at their feet were gone. At this sight, very slowly, it occurred to Hermione what time of year it was and what Madam Pomfrey had said yesterday in the Hospital Wing. The winter break. Fuck. 

How had she slept through the usual hubbub of the girl’s dormitory packing their trunks and heading home for the holidays? Why had no one woken her? Maybe Tonks had told them not to, maybe she had told them not to herself - after all, Hermione couldn’t remember walking through the Fat Lady’s portrait into the common room. She sighed deeply, after the events at the Ministry of Magic Hermione had hoped to surround herself with class work in order to forget about that dark, older, sadistic and shockingly beautiful witch who had undone her completely with a single glance. Around her the worn tapestries of the Gryffindor common room loomed at her as flat as ever, their faded red hue seemed so natural to her that she couldn’t have imagined the walls bare. Hermione moved slowly then to the couches in front of the fire place, and sank down into the warm fabric as she let her head lull against the frame of the couch, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. The heat radiating from the fireplace kissed her shins as thoughts of the wild-haired Bellatrix strode freely through her mind. All night she’d been dreaming of her, beneath her eyelids Hermione could practically see her face - the angled chin, the luminescent white skin, those dark eyes like marbles and those lips that she desperately wanted to feel with the soft pads of her fingers, or even beneath her own lips. Hermione felt then, between her legs, a certain heat and a very peculiar sensation she’d not felt with such intensity before, a sense of pure want came over her as this rippling lust made it’s own way through her body. 

Hermione stood and rose from the couch in an effort to leave her feelings warming by the fire. Slowly she walked through the common room and over towards windows through which grey light was streaming. From this close to the window Hermione could feel the cool air coming off it as it cascaded to the floor like liquid. Outside the grey clouds of winter, always grey clouds, seem entirely settled for their long stay in the skies of Hogwarts. Hermione’s eyes scanned over the horizon, gently falling over the trees and grass, falling still over the mirror like lake, washing up on the gravel shores near the boat house and then… What? 

A black shape, a black figure, caught her eye, it’s shadowy form contrasting absolutely with it’s grey surrounds. Suddenly her body was coursing with adrenaline and her legs collapsed beneath her. Her breath became ragged in her throat as her eyes searched the floor wildly for any sort of answer to what had just happened. Bellatrix. Bellatrix Lestrange. Here. Looking at her through the window. Hermione felt like crying and laughing at once as a noise escaped her mouth that could only be described as both. Beneath her ribs she could feel her heart pounding, urging her upward, her head screamed at her to stand up and meet the eyes of that sublimely frightening woman and… and then what? Everything she’d dreamed of the sadistic Death Eater the night before was entirely not possible, the idea that a woman like that would let a Mudblood like her get close enough to even breathe the same air as her without using the Killing Curse on her was ridiculous, she thought, completely ridiculous. Counter to logic and reason Hermione stood up anyway. Frantically her eyes scanned across the space near the boat house where she had seen the figure, where she had seen Bellatrix, finding nothing. Wider she looked now, all along the shore, all the way up to the stairs leading to the castle, she tried to see to the other side of the lake - it was no use, Bellatrix was gone. Hermione’s heart sunk in her chest and she felt so disappointed in herself, Bellatrix had come to Hogwarts and she’d missed what was possibly her only chance to meet the witch face to face, to meet her and… Oh, goodness, she had no idea what she was going to do if ever she should come face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. In a flurry of limbs and expletives Hermione ran up the impossibly tight staircase leading back to the girl’s dormitory. Her bare feet slapping against the hard wood floors as she reached for her jacket. 

 

Hermione’s feet slipped quickly over the stone stairs, taking two or three at a time - it was moments like these in which she cursed the Great Staircase for being so indecisive and slow. The flights of stairs seemed to be moving much slower today, just to mock her, she didn’t doubt that Hogwarts had seen Bellatrix too, and was trying to keep her from the witch. 

“Damn you!” She cried. 

Freeing herself at last from the passivity of the Great Staircase Hermione took a right turn through a tremendously high arch-way, walking down a few stairs she was brought to the entrance hall. With the door to the dining room at her back Hermione pushed aside the heavy doors of the Hogwarts entrance and made her way into the courtyard, the grey skies had rendered the usually beautiful area positively dull, where nothing in particular stood out against anything else. The cool winter air made her gasp at first, her body forgetting momentarily what it was like to be in the cold. From here she moved to the edge of the courtyard into a rooved passage with serpentine windows made of stone and was plunged into shadow, the spluttering grey light failing to make it’s way there. She began to run down the stony path in front of her, following it’s every corner and practically leaping down any stairs she came across. The enclosed corridor opened out after a while and Hermione found herself once again in the dim light, before her she could see the path dip downward, with many sets of stairs, as it spilled over the cliffs leading down to the boat house. She ran down these stairs as fast as she could, the wind from the lake rising up and tugging at her hair and freezing her earlobes and cheeks. After a short time of running the path beneath her bare feet became jagged and rough and looked as if it had been carved out of the cliff itself as she sank lower and lower onto the shore line. The freezing cold from the rocky path quickly traversed through the soles of her feet and climbed up her legs, but really, she didn’t care. 

Almost there now, the boat house was in sight and the sinking feeling in her stomach refused to shift. Where is she? Up ahead the path flattened off as it led to the small, mossy boat house, the ground beneath her feet turned to mud and ice but at that moment she could hardly feel it. Hermione became still then, she was stood in the exact place she had seen the figure in, the exact place she had seen Bellatrix in, but there was nothing. Here was nothing. Somewhere else, she thought. Hermione turned on the spot, looking in every direction for a sign of the older witch, looking for anything, but there was nothing. From here she could see the window of the girl’s dormitory quite plainly, though she wasn’t sure if Bellatrix had seen her through the reflections of the grey, grey clouds on the windows, she hoped not. What would the witch have thought, even if she had come to see Hermione, to be greeted with cowardice. She sighed to herself then, in the Ministry she’d shown cowardice too, running from the witch who freely embraced her. Horrified with herself, she ran down towards the shore, where the smell of mildew and dampness pervaded her senses as if her body itself was made from moss. Her chest heaved with fatigue, heaved with nothingness, heaved, perhaps, with the unbearable thought that Bellatrix was gone. Hermione then began to sob, not through sadness, but through anger and confusion, and maybe too from lack of sleep.

“What am I doing!?” She yelled across the lake, after a few moments her own voice was returned to her as an echo, though slightly distorted and much quieter. 

Hermione’s feet from all the passionate running had become rather battered, her toes were frozen and pink with the cold and the soles of her feet had many cuts and scrapes from her long journey down from the Gryffindor girl’s dormitory. Wet bits of grass and dirt clung to her flesh of her feet as she stood, alone, on the shore of the lake near the boat house where she thought she’d seen Bellatrix only moments before. She desperately wished for a single trace of the witch, for a warm patch of mud where she had stood, for a thread from her dress - but there was nothing. It was then, in that moment, where she came to know Bellatrix’s cruelty. 

“I need a bath…” she muttered to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Throwing caution to the wind Hermione decided to use the unnecessarily decadent prefect’s bathroom to bathe in. The white marble steps leading up to the bath blended almost seamlessly into the massive accumulation of bubbles Hogwarts had prepared for her. Here, she sighed with relief; she always got her best thinking done in a bath. She was thankful for the solace this bathroom would offer her, for a short time, perhaps an hour or two, she wouldn’t have to be Hermione Granger to anyone but herself. Carefully she ascended the small set of stairs leading up to the bath, to her left were a pile of towels and it was on those where she would place her discarded clothes. First she unbuttoned her jeans, wanting to be free of their soggy cuffs, and a pressure released around her hips as the denim became slack, she slid the jeans down her legs and peeled them off at her ankles, loosely folding the trousers and placing them on top of the pile of towels. Next came her jacket which came off easily enough, as it’s thick weave parted from her skin Hermione felt a shiver come over her, and glanced at the mountainous bubbles longingly. Soon, she thought. Lightly she gripped the hem of her shirt with both hands and lifted it over her head, her hair momentarily getting caught up in the bundle of cloth. In wake of the fleeting garment her skin became chilled and exposed as Hermione began to feel more and more natural. Next she removed her bra, her arms folding at the elbow and moved behind her back as she carried out this all too familiar manoeuvre. Quickly the bra was placed on top of the pile of towels with the other clothes, by now she was feeling very unrestricted and quite content with the thought of a nice hot bath to soothe her mind. Last Hermione slipped off her underwear, the sheer fabric grazing lightly over her legs as the warmth of her core radiated and faded out into the heat of the room. Revealed she was now, as she placed the last of her coverings onto the pile of clothes, the timeless beauty of her body, of her skin and of her hair all singing in unison as she stepped lightly towards the bath. Rising heat from the body of hot water kissed against her flesh, leaving in it’s wake a trail of goosebumps.

As Hermione stepped into the scalding water a gasp escaped her lips and she was forced downward, to sit on the edge of the great white marble bath tub until her body was used to the hot water. She swung her legs gently through the water as miniature waves were formed in their wake, the sound of rippling water filling her ears and the smell of bubble bath filling her nose. Hermione’s thoughts turned then to Bellatrix: Did she have baths? What sort of bubble bath did she like? How hot did she like her water to be? After a moments thought Hermione decided that, yes, Bellatrix Lestrange would have baths - by candle light and often. Her bubble bath would smell of violets, Hermione decided again. Intoxicating and thick, like a secret shadowed corner in the back of a garden where violets would grow so crowded with purple luminescence. Their scent would coat the dark witch - secretly under her clothes. Hermione tried to remember Bellatrix’s smoke as she’d followed them out of the Room of Prophecy, had she smelled violets then as the witch’s particles invaded and became one with her every sense? And her water, Hermione decided, ought to be on the very brink of scalding, almost unbearable, but not quite. Here, in an attempt to feel a connection with Bellatrix, Hermione slipped from the marble ledge she had been sitting on and plunged herself into the water which was on the very brink of scalding, almost unbearable, but not quite.

Instantly she moaned as the water flooded around her body, the skin which had been resting on the cool marble was now fluctuating with shock at the intensity of the heat. Her eyes fluttered closed as the hot water soothed her and the mountains of bubbles hid her beneath their white and foamy peaks. The hot water roused in her all the carnal reflexes she’d known usually to be quieter: her chest heaved in and out slowly as the hot water laved over her breasts, betwixt her lungs Hermione’s heart began pounding and all through her body she could feel it’s insistent beat and at her brow glassy beads of sweat formed which fell backwards into her hair, pulling strands of the auburn fibres together into bunches. With her eyes closed and her entire body immersed in a sweet smelling bubble bath Hermione’s mind began to stir and form questions. Who was she to Bellatrix, other than an adolescent, a.. a Mudblood. Nothing more. What could she possibly offer to the dark witch that someone hadn’t offered her before, a woman like that could have any lover she chose, any pureblood should be honoured to be chosen by Bellatrix as a lover. Did she take many? Hermione then thought, growing uncomfortable at the thought of someone else being with Bellatrix and satisfying her wholly, someone other than her. She wanted to drown this thought so she slipped under the film of bubbles, the hot water covering her face like Bellatrix’s smoke, and at this she smiled to herself. For a brief and marvellous moment Hermione’s thoughts wandered to Bellatrix in the very act of… it. Her cheeks reddened more above their flush as her mind was filled with images of the older witch in climax, her heavy eyes squeezing closed, her lips quivering in ecstasy and her nails, her claws, sinking into the pale and supple flesh of her would-be lover who ought to cry out with her in unison. Hermione sat up then, her head sprouting from beneath the water. Her auburn curls were now darker with saturation and her hair was sheer to her head as water dripped freely down her face, over her cheeks and lips and dripping quietly back into the water. Again she thought, who was she to Bellatrix? What was she? Beneath the water Hermione let her hands glide across her skin. What was this skin to Bellatrix, other than a thin veneer for her blood. Her muscles, what would Bellatrix think of those? Would she hate those too, like she hated her blood? And her breasts, could they be enough to satisfy the dark witch’s wants and desires? Hermione had come into the bath to clear her head, but now as she sat idle in the water more and more questions seemed to form and articulate themselves within her. Though, her main inner quarrel had been well and truly soothed as she picked over her own body for something to offer Bellatrix, for something to please her with.

Hermione began then to run her hands over her arms, being sure to scrub off any trace of dirt, mud or sweat left over from the Ministry and her little journey down to the boat house. The quickly dissipating bubbles lathered her skin and left it smelling sweet and clean. She cupped her hands and let water flow into them. Once full she lifted her hands to her face and splashed the water over her features, her skin cooling as the water dripped from her jaw. Slowly, as her joints were a little stiff after their very nearly scalding bath, Hermione raised herself out of the water. First, her shoulders were revealed followed by her arms with their tensed muscles as they bore her weight. The gentle contours of her chest began to form as her silken, soaked skin rose from the liquid, the water slipping off her nipples as easily as it had surrounded them. Out she came, section by section, into the cool air, her flushed skin standing out against the nearly all white bathroom. Water pooled at her feet as she stepped gently from the bath, the cold marble stairs making her toes clench with displeasure. Placing her hand on top her pile of clothes Hermione urged a towel from the stack without disturbing the others. Quickly she wrapped the fluffy cream towel around her shoulders and was thankful for it’s warmth against her skin. She began to sweep the material over her limbs and body, drying herself, when she noticed something odd on the floor, which, she was sure, hadn’t been there when she had gotten into the bath.

A small piece of folded up paper stared up at her from the tiles of the room, it’s crumpled and worn appearance made her think perhaps it was from some prefect who’d used the bathroom before and had failed to see it. She kneeled beside the wad and extended a hand to it, the sheer paper lightly sticking to her pruned fingers. Carefully, carefully, she unfolded the wad. Her eyes watched her fingers with great interest as they slowly revealed the paper, her mind came alive with possibilities - quietly she hoped it was Bellatrix who’d left her a note, who’d written her a note for her to treasure and keep inside her clothes, near her breast. Now unfolded the piece of paper left Hermione breathless, with confusion and frustration she flipped the paper wildly from front to back searching for more, for anything more. She was not so much hurt by what the paper said, but simply by the thought that Bellatrix had been here, or perhaps her magic had, and she hadn’t even noticed. Stupid girl! she thought. Again and again her eyes read over the words scrawled in an unfamiliar script across the paper.

_You’ll always be filthy to me._

Hastily Hermione finished drying herself and got dressed, folding the note up and tucking it between the flesh of her bosom and her bra, just as Bellatrix had wanted her to do, and hurried to the girl’s dormitory where she would analyse the note further. Quietly before she tucked the note into her clothes Hermione remarked on Bellatrix’s penmanship and would try later to reproduce the witch’s curls and loops.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hundreds of titles spilled out at her from the shelves, were this any other time Hermione ought to take great pleasure in pouring her mind over each until it’s knowledge was her own. But this was no leisurely study session, she had to remain strong, even in the face of such volumes as Hogwarts, A History. Her fingers skipped over the spines of books both old and new, though mostly old. _Inexplosive Combinations for Potions Students_ \- No. _Infallibility and the Art of Divination_ \- No. _Infamous Witches & Wizards_ \- Yes! Hermione resisted the urge to devour the volume then and there, perched on top of the library ladder she’d become so accustomed to standing on during her time at Hogwarts. But instead she slid the heavy book from between it’s somewhat concerning neighbours and pressed it to her chest once it was free, negotiating her way down the rickety ladder and exhaling with relief when she made it to the bottom. The smell of the pages, old and seldom touched, wafted up from the book and kissed her nose, she loved that smell, it made her think of, well… books. Hermione carried the volume over to the desk she’d sprawled her stuff out on, with a satisfying thud the book landed on the table, she loved that sound too. She moved on from her table now, to another section of the library, walking past those stoic and incredibly familiar shelves. Hermione swore sometimes she could navigate this place in the dark and on more than one occasion she had. She knew the particular set of shelves she was looking for, they were right by the entrance to the library and much shorter than the others. After a moments travel to the shelves Hermione found her fingers trailing over their spines, in want of one particular book. Ah, there it was, right where she had expected it to be - Hogwarts Students 1900 - Present. Smiling to herself Hermione slid the moderately sized volume off the shelf and clutched it in her arms, for as long as she could remember books were always something she treasured.

Back at her desk Hermione placed the book next to the other. She slid into a stiff wooden chair, opened her notebook and uncapped her pen, ready to research. Studying was the only way she knew to clear up confusion and she’d take any excuse to cure her of her boredom. Hogwarts Students 1900 - Present, she slid the book in front of her, it’s cover and spine were stiff with age and disuse, it’s such a shame, she thought to herself. Hermione took a hold of the pages and turned instantly to the index, none of her compatriots saw the value of them, but none of her compatriots got marks like her either. L… L… L…, she thought. But wait, it wasn’t Lestrange then, no - Lestrange was her married name. Black, it would have been. She flipped a few pages back, this time searching for the B’s as her finger trailed down the page. There it was, Black. Black, Andromeda… Black, Bellatrix. The thin pages fluttered beneath her fingers, as faces of people she didn’t know flashed before her eyes, their features melding together until Hermione swore she’d seen the same person at least twice. Bellatrix Black, there she was. For a moment Hermione found it hard to think clearly, her mind fully focused on processing the image in front of her. Frantically she tried to remember every detail about the photo, every blemish and unexplainable dark spot - all of it would go in her mind, ready for withdrawal at any moment. Hermione thought of the woman she’d seen in the Ministry and tried desperately to connect her to the girl in front of her. It was the eyes, she decided. Her eyes are the same. The same dark eyes that left her lost for words. Were it not for her eyes Hermione wouldn’t have recognised the now sadistic witch, her hair was neat and tied up with a black bow, a few loose strands here or there, but overall nothing like the wild hair which the Bellatrix she knew possessed. This girl’s skin looked so incredibly palpable and smooth, her cheeks were full and without the claws of Azkaban beneath them. She looked almost timid, Hermione thought, as she shifted from side to side in the restrains of her photo, smiling every now and again, but only slightly. She leaned closer to the picture’s face, looking carefully into the girl’s eyes, searching them thoroughly for any sign of the hideously sadistic tendencies that her modern day self possessed. Hermione was visited then by thoughts of this timid young witch casting Crucio on somebody, what did she feel when she used it the first time? Had she ever felt? Hermione felt then a strange gust of protectiveness come about her and instil her with dramatic vigour, she wanted to save this almost beautiful young girl from herself, to save her from all the horrors she would so willingly commit. To save her from those innumerate days she would inevitably spend in Azkaban for her crimes. Was it the prison that changed her in the end, or was it the curses, the deafening screams and the blood? Hermione didn’t know this girl and decided to close her back into her book.

She pushed this book from her and replaced it with the other, Infamous Witches & Wizards, which was a considerably thinner volume that had clearly been looked at many times by curious students. Hermione flipped again to the index of the book, this time searching for Lestrange. A bolt of jealousy shot through her body as she found the entry for Lestrange, Bellatrix, which sat above a similar entry for Lestrange, Rudolphus. A pureblood marriage of convenience, she said to herself. She turned gladly from the index in search of the correct page, hoping never to see Bellatrix and Rudolphus sitting together again, in text form or otherwise. Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat and a quickening awoke in her as she laid eyes on Bellatrix Lestrange as she knew her, her hair wild with incarseration and a strictly controlled madness behind her eyes. This woman resembled much more closely the Bellatrix she’d seen at the Ministry. Hermione’s eyes drifted over the photo’s face, coming to rest on it’s lips which were parted slightly revealing a set of yellowed teeth. She could hardly restrain the bubbles of lust which rose in her as she looked over Bellatrix Lestrange’s lips which looked as full as they had in her dreams. As she examined her figure Hermione was taken aback by her almost carnal attraction to the dark witch’s fingers, which were slender and rippling at the knuckles with sinew. She practically longed to feel those slim instruments sift their way through her hair, to have them grazing and clawing over her body or simply for them to be entwined with her own. Next to this photo of Bellatrix in Azkaban was a much smaller one of her on trial at the Ministry, with a look of pure hatred mixed with a smirk spread across her face, Hermione felt such an affinity with this woman, with these pictures of her, that she sat very quiet for a few minutes merely looking. Devouring the images with her gaze and trying to remember them for later. Memory will never do, she suddenly said to herself. I’ve got to take a copy. Hermione was, even in her hypnotised-like state, reluctant to have any damage come unnecessarily to a book and so she swished her wand from over the image of Bellatrix to over her blank and awaiting notebook until, as if by some stippling action, the image began to appear exactly the same as it looked in the other book. It was a trick she’d learned while studying to save time.

From the other corner of the library she heard rustling and footsteps, footsteps getting louder and closer. In a panic Hermione closed the book and closed her notebook, stuffing it and her pen back into her pocket before raising her wand again and whispering quietly: Wingardium Leviosa! Silently, Hogwarts Students 1900 - Present lifted off the table and floated down the aisles, just before it went out of sight Hermione closed her eyes and guided the book back to it’s shelf with her mind, she’d gotten to know this library so well it seemed almost a shame not to employ her knowledge of it’s aisles like she employed everything else she learned there. The warm sensation flowing through her wand ceased and she knew the book had arrived safely back in it’s home. Almost frantically she took hold of Infamous Witches & Wizards and climbed back up the ladder, returning it to the cavity left upon it’s removal. The footsteps seemed almost on top of her by now as she tried to look casual by adjusting her cardigan and brushing away a phantom piece of dust.

“Ah, Hermione, I thought I had seen someone come in! Madam Pomfrey tells me you’ve not been well, I hope you’re not exerting yourself by coming in here when you ought to be resting?” The cheery and familiar voice of the librarian lulled her to ease, the adrenaline coursing through her blood seemed to stop instantly as she replied in an entirely regular voice.

“I’ve not been in long, though I do feel a little unwell now, so if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll return to the common room.” Hermione replied while the deranged portrait of Bellatrix Lestrange, sadistic Death Eater and murderer, burned a hole on her side.

“Of course, I do hope to see you again - I hope you feel better soon, dear.”

Upon leaving Hermione shone the librarian her most genuine smile as her hand slipped into her pocket where it caressed the spine of her notebook and Hermione felt a wave of exhilaration rise up from between her legs.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione awoke suddenly, as if some sound or touch had disturbed her but upon opening her eyes from under a veil of slumber she found the room to be empty, with only the light streaming through the windows the only possible explanation to her current state of wakefulness. For a short moment she let her eyes slip closed and revelled in the pleasant and warm sensation she experienced all over her body, sheltered beneath her quilt. Deciding that it was time she start to wake up Hermione opened her eyes again and stretched her arms and legs. Beside her, on a small table, Hermione was perhaps more than a little shocked to see her notebook propped up and open to the page she’d copied the photo of Bellatrix onto, like a makeshift photo frame. Sitting up in her bed Hermione reached over through the cool air, her muscles still weary with sleep, and picked up the notebook; she stared at it’s pages for a moment as if they told her what happened while she slept. Before replacing the notebook on the bedside table Hermione noticed another small wad of paper had slipped out from between it’s pages, it was so unlike her to leave any loose and unorganised sheets of paper in her books that she decided it must have been placed there for her to find. By whom? Well, she had a fairly good idea. She was perhaps a little bit frightened at what the note might say, had Bellatrix been watching while she slept? And how on earth had she gotten onto the castle grounds, let alone so silently inside the Gryffindor girl’s dormitories. Her mouth suddenly became dry as adrenaline pumped around her fingers, ready to pick up the small folded hunk of paper. When her fingers landed on the surface of the paper her hand retreated back to her chest as fast as a bolt of lightning, as if the paper itself was made of razorblades which had cut her an infinite amount of times. But the paper was not made of blades, nor had it cut her - the thing which had shocked Hermione so instantly and totally was the fact that the tiny wad of paper had been warm beneath her fingers. She was totally frozen for a moment as her mind started to swirl with the thousands of possibilities why this little wad of folded up paper would be warm, how long ago had it been placed there? And where was it kept before it was placed next to her bed? Hermione hoped tentatively and quietly, that it had been pressed to Bellatrix’s breast as she travelled from wherever it was she had been. Quickly, so no more of the paper’s heat could escape, Hermione snatched the note from her bedside table and pressed it to her chest, imagining blissfully again where it might have been. After a few moments like this Hermione brought the folded up piece of paper into view, where she begun to unfold it so carefully. Revealed the note was now, scrawled across it’s face was the same script from the note she received in the prefect’s bathroom, the loops and curls seemed so well crafted that she smiled at the thought of Bellatrix wielding a pen. Hermione’s eyes shifted from their analysis of Bellatrix’s handwriting and turned to reading the note itself. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing for a moment as a peculiar mix of sheer terror and excitement pumped as quickly through her body as her own blood.

_Meet me in the belltower._

Compulsively she bit at her bottom lip as thoughts of Bellatrix Lestrange actually inside Hogwarts spluttered out of her head, the sadistic, rather beautiful and criminally insane Death Eater - were she caught she would cause all sorts of havoc and possibly a few deaths. If Hermione was going to meet her she would have to be incredibly careful that no one saw her going up the belltower. And what would she do if Bellatrix was there, what would she do if she wasn’t? Did she really expect herself to be able to hold a normal conversation with the Death Eater who wanted all Mudbloods dead? She could hardly control the fluttering in her stomach and the pulse pounding on the side of her neck. Hermione considered, for a moment, not going at all and simply ignoring the note, but then she realised that Bellatrix ought to come looking for her if she never turned up and decided that it was most likely for the best that she go; Hermione was scarcely able to face the witch when she was outwardly flirting with her, let alone when she was mad with her for literally standing her up. No, it’s for the best I go and meet her face to face, she thought. Carefully, she folded the note up and placed it with the other, between her breast and her bra, where they would be safest - Hermione didn’t want to admit it then, but secretly she liked the feeling of the notes from Bellatrix digging into her soft skin, as if this unseen action would please the older witch. Hermione realised then that Bellatrix hadn’t specified a time, she loved being punctual and felt as if she was terribly late already. She began to flex her toes beneath the covers, rousing her legs awake so that they might carry her to the top of the belltower to meet Bellatrix. She felt so nervous, her breaths were shallow as she slowly stepped out of her bed and came to stand on shaky legs. But before she left she would have to get dressed, and make herself look presentable, perhaps even desirable, to the dark witch waiting for in one of the castle’s many spires.

 

* * *

 

Her slender fingers wrapped themselves around the rungs of the old oak ladder leading up to the belltower. Any savvy student knew not to go to the first belltower on the catwalk, that ladder lead to Filch’s office and any student stupid enough to come up here only to walk right into the cat’s den, so to speak, deserved what they had coming. Every step she took closer to the top of the belltower caused echoes all around her, she worried that she’d come all this way, not making a sound down all the corridors, only to be caught half way up a ladder. Forcing her lungs to take in more air Hermione breathed deeper, trying to calm her nerves which were making themselves known in a big way. Of course, it was totally inconvenient for her to be nervous at that time, shaky legs aren’t very good for climbing ladders. Hermione fantasised about running away, about climbing down the ladder instead of up, she could hardly face the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange above her, waiting for her. But still she climbed up, her hands and feet had developed quite the rhythm now and she hardly had to think about traversing the next rung and the next, and the next. Above her now she could see the small hole in the ceiling which the ladder led to, the air grew heavy with dust and age as the beam of light grew brighter and brighter. She thought this must be what dying felt like, her body torn between two completely opposite actions as, as if by automation, she rose into an indescribable shaft of light. There was only a few more rungs to go now, she was almost there. The butterflies in her stomach leapt into action and started rushing around inside her, thousands of them seemed to multiply from nowhere as her fingers wrapped around the final rung and then… stillness.

As she reached up and her hands came into contact with the floor of the belltower Hermione suddenly wasn’t nervous anymore, as if all her worries and anxiety had fallen from the ladder to their demises below. Her eyes lingered on the edges of the floor boards, as her body rose from the ground. She was afraid to look up and face where she had come, and who she had come to meet. As if some unheard voice within her sounded Hermione suddenly brought her face upright and her eyes scanned paroxysmally around the room, she was surrounded by a single curved wall which formed a circle around her, there were four windows placed an equal distance apart from each other which let in all the white and dusty light she’d seen streaming down the ladder earlier. The roof towered high above her head as the walls came to meet in a common point, if she kept spinning around it was as if the walls went on forever, with an infinite amount of windows letting in an infinite amount of light. She was hurt for a moment, thought she wouldn’t admit it to herself, that Bellatrix wasn’t there, she rationalised with herself that she almost hadn’t come herself for fear of facing the witch and didn’t expect Bellatrix to turn up anyway. That’s what she told herself, over and over, as she walked slowly over to one of the windows and looked out of it, focusing on nothing in particular. She felt hurt and disappointed, she had been scared of what the witch would think of her, running to meet her in a seldom visited corner of the castle at a moments notice. She had been scared of the idea of meeting Bellatrix again, but now, as she pressed her slightly flushed forehead to the window pane all fear escaped her as she shamelessly wished for Bellatrix.

“Poor little Mudblood, her girlfriend didn’t show!” Bellatrix’s voice echoed with malice around the small circular room.

Hermione’s eyes widened instantly and she gasped, taking in a massive amount of air. The butterflies inside her stomach this time emerged in her abdomen, sending through her the most peculiar sensations of want and lust. In a state of almost disbelief Hermione turned around to find Bellatrix Lestrange, the Bellatrix Lestrange standing in the same room as her, and looking right at her. Her feet became blocks of metal pinning her to the floor as her lips tried desperately to form words.

“Hermione isn’t it?” Bellatrix teased, “They told me you were smart, and articulate. How unfortunate. Well, come here and let me look at you.” There was a hint of kindness in Bellatrix’s voice which, overall, made Hermione feel incredibly uncomfortable.

As if driven by some unseen force Hermione took tentative steps toward the dark witch who had appeared out of nowhere in this tiny room. Her hair looks incredible, Hermione thought as she was separated from her own body for a moment. She came to a halt in the centre of the room, a few feet away from Bellatrix. Hermione could hear the blood rushing in her head as the dark witch looked her over with glassy black eyes and a look of satisfaction wrought across her features.

“H-how did you get inside the castle?” Hermione finally managed to stammer.

“How, how, how. That’s all you care about, Mudblood.” It wasn’t a real reply but in the moment it seemed to satisfy Hermione who hardly flinched at the use of that term, at least, when it was coming from Bellatrix.

The fluttering feeling in Hermione’s abdomen increased, she felt her pulse reflected in every agonising throb of sensitive flesh, while this dark witch’s eyes refused to break contact with her own. Unconsciously Hermione began gnawing on the inside of her lip, as a release for her current frustrations. Unable to bear the sensations laving over her core Hermione turned her gaze to the ground, trying desperately to regain control over her body. Bellatrix had noticed, some time ago, the young girl’s level of wanton composure and smirked to herself. Hermione heard Bellatrix take a heavy step, and then another and another, until she had established a circling motion around her, the scent of the older witch’s skin coming in waves to caress her senses. Slyly she tried to breathe in at the precise moments where she could inhale as much of Bellatrix Lestrange as she possibly could.

“You’re not scared of me, are you muddy little Hermione?” Bellatrix almost savoured the way Hermione’s name formed and floated from her lips. “No, I think you’re just scared of yourself,” she continued, “just scared of all the little thoughts you’ve had about me since I chased you down at the Ministry. Scared of how long I watched you in the bath, don’t worry Muddy, it wasn’t too long.” Hermione thought she ought to have found Bellatrix threatening at this moment, with the notorious Death Eater circling her as if she were a piece of prey, but all she could think about was how good the witch smelled. “You know what I think, Hermione,” Here, Hermione shivered at the use of her name, “I think you rather like me watching you, leaving you notes in my nicest handwriting.”

Hermione begun to feel, somehow, more and more confident with Bellatrix circling her and decided to look into the witch’s eyes. Peeling her eyes from the floor she looked up to find the dark witch’s eyes already focused on her own and as she did Bellatrix’s eyebrow cocked and she felt another jolt of want go through her body. Tighter she circled, close enough that at certain points of her lap Bellatrix’s hair would brush against Hermione’s body - it felt like, by now, the butterflies in her abdomen had caught fire and it was a struggle to remain stoic in front of the dark witch who would no doubt take great pleasure in what she was doing to Hermione’s composure.

“I think you want me, Hermione, I think you wanted me as soon as you saw me at the Ministry. What makes you think that I would ever, ever, want to fuck a filthy Mudblood like you?” Bellatrix’s voice became low and coarse, which would, of course, only affect Hermione in one place.

She strained so hard to appear indifferent, struggled against the rising want and the undeniable throbbing in her core. Hermione unintentionally imagined what it would be like to… fuck Bellatrix, she imagined the feelings in her own body as they would travel through her fingers into the other witch, she imagined all the utterly filthy things that Bellatrix would whisper to her and was very nearly ready to latch onto her then and there. But she remained stoic, she refused to appear weak to this woman. Bellatrix tightened her circling even more now, she was so close to Hermione that her slender and powerful hand first grazed around Hermione’s hip and then it swooped briefly across the girl’s abdomen - to which she couldn’t, she tried hard but she couldn’t, deny a response to: she moaned. It was only quiet, and only for a second, but in the small and quiet room the volume of the thing hardly mattered. From Bellatrix’s lips she heard a low giggle, which made her eyes flutter shut.

“So I was right, wasn’t I, Hermione? I always am.” Hermione wished that Bellatrix would stop using her name, she wished that the witch would stop teasing her, so that she might regain her composure, but it seemed now that Bellatrix had broken the poor young witch she refused to stop. Silently, Bellatrix began to leave a shade of smoke in her wake as she circled around Hermione who refused to break their eye contact, no matter how much she blushed.

“Well Mudblood, I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but a girl has places to be! I’ll be around.” Bellatrix circled faster around Hermione now, but purely as an undulating rope of smoke. Still upholding what little composure she had left Hermione stood completely still while the Death Eater spun literal rings around her. Bellatrix had underestimated the young witch, and felt compelled to draw from her a more definite sign. While the smoke ravelled around her the last few times Hermione began to feel the shape of Bellatrix’s hands and wrists brushing against her again, before the witch vanished into the morning - it all happened so fast - the smoke around her paused for a split second as Bellatrix appeared at her back and wrapped one arm around her waist, the other pulled her hair back from covering her ear and then, then, she felt lips, warm lips, pressed against her ear. Shivers erupted all over her body and she became aware suddenly of a wetness between her legs. Bellatrix’s breath and voice came and poured over her ear, the subtle manipulation of those full lips against her own skin was almost like a kiss, almost. Hermione would remain strong, she must!

“Bye, bye, Mudblood.” The witch’s voice was like syrup that flowed into her head.

The grip on her stomach tightened and their bodies were pressed together for an instant as the whisper escaped her lips and Hermione couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Her hands which had been hanging by her sides this whole time suddenly shot up and grasped at Bellatrix’s hair, their tips quite vanishing in the dark strands, her head lulled back into Bellatrix and their bodies were brought closer. Her eyes fluttered shut with ecstasy as a throaty groan escaped her lips. And in a flash of ashen particles, as quickly as it had occurred, Bellatrix vanished. Leaving Hermione standing in the middle of the belltower quite frustrated. In a few moments when her mind had processed the series of events she would be incredibly giddy, but not quite yet.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione found herself in darkness. She felt like she’d been woken up, but she couldn’t remember the transition between sleeping and now. She was in her bed, she knew that much - the familiar embrace of her Hogwarts bed was something she could never mistake. But why then, was she awake? There were no noises, no lights, nothing at all to stop her from sleeping. And yet, she lay awake in the darkness, her eyes in desperate want of something to focus on. A delicate sound caressed her ears then, somewhere nearby someone was taking slow and heavy steps, they sounded close but distant at the same time. Calmly she listened to the slow rhythm as it became more and more definite. She didn’t mind terribly though, perhaps it was the muffled veil of sleep making her lay in bed in such a wakeful yet contented state. Hermione closed her eyes and listened hard for more footsteps, but there were none. She wished, for a moment, that this blackness might lift so she could see colours and light - but after a thought she almost didn’t mind the darkness, it was as if all the colours had blurred together at once. The footsteps had all but vanished from her ears and Hermione had almost decided to try and go back to sleep when she heard the crisp noises return, though they sounded louder now - and closer too. She tried to place where the footsteps might be coming from, she listened out for any telltale creaks or groans of floorboards, any rustle of carpet - but there was nothing. Only the sound of the footsteps slowly getting closer and closer. Hermione heard the sound get louder still, the sounds began to clarify, she could hear the shoes - yes, they were shoes, the sound was much too sharp to be feet - on the same floor as she was, she could hear the shoes outside her door and still she wasn’t scared. The footsteps paused for a moment as their owner searched for the handle into the girl’s dormitory. The door groaned open on it’s hinges, the bottom of the panel scraping lightly against the wooden floorboards as Hermione only slightly stirred at the approaching shoes and their owner. Hermione turned her head so her ear was pointed towards the door, in an effort to pick up as much nose as possible, she could hear breathing and she could hear the soft rustle of fabric as the figure took another step. She smiled to herself then, remembering the way Bellatrix dressed and the way she sounded when she moved, her dress would drag through the air, producing the very sound she heard now. Breathing, she thought she could hear someone breathing. She imagined the air sliding in over the witch’s lips, falling down into her lungs and being expelled moments later, only much warmer. Hermione wished the air flowing from Bellatrix’s lips would come wash over her like hot water. And then, another of Hermione’s senses came into play, she smelled something. Something quite familiar, but totally fascinating. The smell pervaded her body and her mind - it passed through her skin as if it were nothing and made it’s own delicate, fiery way to her core. Her breath quickened and her toes clenched of their own accord. Hermione knew this feeling and she knew that scent - it was Bellatrix Lestrange - standing remarkably near her bed.

She knew the older witch was there, she could still smell her - but all auditory trace of the woman had vanished. Hermione strained her ears into the darkness listening hard for any whisper of motion to give Bellatrix’s whereabouts away. She lay motionless in her bed for what was about five minutes, listening patiently into the smothering blackness. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest when the realisation of how close Bellatrix was stood to her at that moment, she wondered if the other witch could see her, or if they were both listening patiently in the dark. At last, Hermione decided to call for her, she inhaled deeply to soothe her rapid heartbeat and whispered, a little quieter than she had intended.

“Bellatrix?”

For a moment it seemed as if a reply would never come, that Bellatrix’s voice had been swallowed up by the darkness and the morning along with it. But then, with earnest cruelty came the dark witch’s reply:

“Mudblood.” Hermione could hear the smirk on Bellatrix’s face.

Hermione found her current situation a little hard to believe, suspended in absolute darkness with Bellatrix Lestrange. She would have giggled had she not been also a little bit terrified. She had struggled for days to get the events in the belltower out of her mind and now here she was in potentially mind-blowing proximity to the older witch.

“A-am I dreaming?” She managed to splutter.

“I’ve come all this way and you wish you were still sleeping? That’s no way to greet a guest, Hermione.”

Hermione could hear the witch’s voice come closer, it carried through the cool night air until it almost seemed as if Bellatrix was standing right next to her. But then, then, an unexpected weight planted itself at the end of her bed as the swirling in her abdomen started again. Hermione felt the witch’s body at the end of her bed, she heard her breathing and could even smell her, but still her eyes failed her as she squinted into the night, swimming in this blackness with Bellatrix. At the end of her bed, the dark witch’s weight was comforting, she felt the heat pooling off the woman through her bedcovers and slowly edged her legs a little closer to the edge of the bed so her body might absorb Bellatrix’s warmth. The covers spread across her chest became taught as the older witch’s body settled on the end of her bed, effectively pinning her in place - she felt trapped at that moment, but didn’t mind it so much because Bellatrix couldn’t see anything either. Hermione felt a dull throb between her legs as more and more of the witch’s warmth was absorbed into her legs, she was almost too warm now and felt like squirming away to the cooler side of her bed, but when she tried to shift under the tight covers she found she could not. She pursed her lips and tried to focus on something else. In the back of her mind at that moment she was thankful, too, for the fact that it was the winter break and no one was around to hear her and Bellatrix’s debauchery.

“Are you comfortable in your little bed, Muddy?” Bellatrix cooed at her from the velvety blackness. “I tell you, since our last chat I’ve had the most disgusting feeling of reminiscence. Isn’t that strange?”

Hermione could hear Bellatrix’s voice waning between affection and spite, something which she’d only heard in such perfect harmony coming from this witch. The heat flowing through her body increased as Bellatrix spoke, she found it hard to concentrate on what the woman was saying while the gentle throb between her legs increased too. Hermione could hardly stand the heat at her feet, she almost cried out but as her lips went to form words the weight at the end of her bed shifted, it shifted closer. Immediately she slid her feet, beneath the covers, to the cool side of the mattress and the relief felt unspeakably good. Her mind began to process what just happened as her feet revelled in coolness she realised, stupidly late, that Bellatrix was closer to her now, the pool of heat now radiated out to her core and she thought she might just combust with frustration. Hermione wanted desperately, in that moment, to reach out and touch the older witch, to feel the texture of her dress and of her corset and perhaps even feel her skin under her own fingers. Naturally, these thoughts did nothing for her state of frustration as she gripped the sheets beneath her blanket to keep her hands occupied. Hermione’s breath began to hitch in her throat as she felt Bellatrix’s weight shift again, as if her spot next to the girl’s pelvis displeased her greatly. Hermione shifted away from the patch of bed where she knew the older witch was to sit next, pre-emptively freeing herself from the restrictive binds of her weighted covers. Bellatrix came to sit in parallel with Hermione’s elbow, who was grateful for the shift away from her wanton pelvic floor. She wanted desperately to see the witch’s face, she could practically feel her breath cascading down onto her chest and lips as her whole body began to sing with want.

“Oh, little Mudblood, she hardly knows what to do when the big, bad Death Eater comes crawling up her exceptionally small bed. You’ve hardly made a peep, maybe you’re asleep?” Bellatrix snorted playfully at her unintentional rhyme.

Hermione wanted to reply to the woman, but hardly knew what to say. So, instead, she shifted her own body and brought her arms to support herself as she sat up in her bed that had Bellatrix Lestrange perched on one side. She felt the witch next to her shift again and was concerned for a moment that her head might end up next to the woman’s crotch, which was something which couldn’t occur at the same time as her having any sort of composure. Hermione was relieved when she felt the witch’s weight shift backwards, she guessed that Bellatrix was now kneeling next to her as she heard a peculiar sound of cloth scraping across flesh. Her eyes widened and her breathing stopped momentarily as she realised where Bellatrix had moved and where she was planning on moving next.

Bellatrix’s weight rested on one solitary knee as she lifted her other leg over Hermione’s waist, letting it settle there for a moment before hoisting her body on top of the young girl, so that she was now straddling her. Hermione practically bit through her lip in order to stifle a moan escaping from her lips as she felt the sheer heat dripping off Bellatrix’s bare legs envelop her pelvis as the witch’s weight pressed down on her pubis. She could feel warmth eminating from an unseen source in front of her own useless eyes as the stronger scent of Bellatrix’s skin let her know suddenly that the dark witch’s face must be only inches from her own. Hermione moved her hands out from under her and guided them through the blackened depths towards Bellatrix. Her hands collided softly, on either side, with the witch’s upper arm, her fingers relished the contact as she heard a low giggle escape the older woman’s lips.

“Muddy’s finally awake, I see.” Bellatrix whispered softly.

Slowly, Hermione let her hands wander upwards over Bellatrix’s thin arms, her fingers rising over the seam in her clothes where small segments of naked flesh made her eyes flutter shut. She could feel Bellatrix’s hands nestled in the bedclothes beside her hips - she could tell by the way the material tugged from her that the woman was clenching the quilt hard in her fists. Bravely Hermione let her hands wander higher over Bellatrix’s shoulders, she could feel wiry strands of hair slipping over the backs of her hands as they dipped and curved over the prominent bones of the witch’s clavicles. Her breath began to stagger in her throat as more and more warm skin slid under her fingers, she could hardly sense a stir in the older woman, until, that is, her fingers came to glide over the witch’s jugular where she felt the unmistakable pound of a racing pulse. A hardness came under the pads of her digits then as Hermione’s fingers slipped up onto Bellatrix’s unmistakeable jaw. She felt immensely privileged then, as a smile spread across her lips and her tongue fluttered inside her mouth.

“You’re lucky, Mudblood, that I don’t cast Crucio on you for laying your filthy hands on me.” Bellatrix’s words came out as nothing more than a whisper as Hermione revelled in the sensation of feeling the witch’s voice resonate profoundly through her skull.

Hermione’s thumbs began to wander, as the victims of curiosity, over the skin of Bellatrix’s face available to them. The young witch was struck with awe as the smoothness of the witch’s skin revealed itself to her in this pitch black room. Her thumbs slipped carefully to caress the full flesh of Bellatrix’s lower lip as a quiet moan flew from her own mouth. A rustling pressed against her ears as she became aware of Bellatrix’s hands moving, with her hands wrapped around the older woman’s jaw she could feel the strong muscles of her back flex and tense, raising the witch’s arms, and hands, to Hermione’s throat. Loosely the slender fingers were bound around her throat as long nails scratched gently on the skin at the back of her neck. Her eyelids began to tremble and flutter as an immense feeling of want was retched up from inside of her, forcing her to lean closer to where she thought the older witch’s face was. Shocked, she was suddenly, to find Bellatrix’s face much closer than she expected, as if the two had leaned in at precisely the same moment. She felt the woman’s breath expelled onto her own lips, the moistness and freshness of it, in combination with the well placed pressure across her crotch, was enough to send her desires wild as a vessel opened up inside her which desperately wanted and impatiently waited to be filled with the very essence of Bellatrix. The colours she so longed for began to flash in front of her eyes, blues at first, followed by reds and greens, as her body prepared itself for the dark witch. Closer she leaned, until she could feel the warmth coming off the older woman’s lips as her hands held the woman exactly where she wanted her. Around her own throat she felt Bellatrix’s fingers tense in anticipation.

 

* * *

 

Hermione awoke with a jerk, she groaned in frustration at having another one of those dreams. Almost every night she dreamed of Bellatrix coming to her out of darkness and leaving her totally desperate. If things continued on like this she would have start taking matters into her own hands.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione felt a little strange, sitting in the Great Hall all by herself, eating a modest breakfast of toast and pumpkin juice in this most immodest of settings. Solemnly she stared into the browned pattern on her toast, last night she’d had two more of those dreams and was close to going crazy. Her piece of toast had been drowned in honey in a moment of absent thought and now she stared into it’s amber sheen thinking of all the things she could have done with the surplus honey. She sighed to herself, never before had she found her own thoughts to be so insufferable and somewhat pleasant at the same time. Hermione’s eyes circled endlessly around the crust of her toast, never before had she found breakfast foods so interesting. Taking a sip of her pumpkin juice Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment with reflex as the flash of blackness made her recall, more intensely, her dreams from the night before. She was sick of dreaming about Bellatrix - she’d prefer it, really, if the dreams would stop and the dark witch come to her in her waking life. Bellatrix had summoned her with a note, Hermione saw no reason why the same shouldn’t work in reverse. As Hermione thought more about calling on the witch, but realised she would have no idea what to say to her, nor what to write to her. It was too early for this sort of dilemma, she decided, and returned to her now soggy toast.

 

* * *

 

Upon finishing her breakfast Hermione found herself wandering aimlessly through the many labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, trying to work out what to do about Bellatrix. Walking was a method she’d used to calm herself and clear her head before exams, there was hardly a path in the whole castle she hadn’t walked through. Currently she found herself in a corridor that not many students would have seen, the floors lacked the distinct wear marks of feet and the windowless cavities through the wall made the whole passage of building almost unbearably cold.

At some point between the Great Hall and now Hermione had managed to pick up a piece of parchment and scrawl a note on it to Bellatrix, she felt stupid wandering around the halls with a note stuffed into her sweaty, nervous palms - but there was no one around to see her anyway. Behind her Hermione was frightened for a moment when she heard the sound of wings beating, she felt a gust of air rumble past her legs as she turned around to see a tawny owl walking on the ground behind her, chirping every few steps. Confused, she looked at the owl in it’s little beady eyes as it chirped at her again, as if asking to deliver her note. Nervously she crouched down in front of the bird, securing her note into it’s pouch and as she stood she tried to inject some authority into her voice as she stammered over the phrase:

“Take this to Bellatrix Lestrange.”

The owl looked her over for a few moments, as if waiting for her to correct her request. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say to the creature and instead stood in silence looking expectantly at the bird. Her heart began to beat a little faster as it jumped onto the window ledge and flew out into the morning; she could still feel the sweaty imprint in her palm where her note had been. The owl quickly travelled out of sight and all Hermione managed to think about was if Bellatrix would get her note at all. Who knew where she was at that moment, hopefully the owl did. Sliding her hands into her jean pockets Hermione walked over to the window ledge that the owl had flown out of only seconds ago, she sat down slowly, drawing a knee up to her chin to lean on. Looking to the sky for any sign of a reply. She felt at ease with her attraction to Bellatrix now she’d had time to think it over, clearly if the older witch wanted her dead she would be long gone by now, perhaps even that first night at the Ministry she would have done it. But she wasn’t dead, she was very much alive and lusting after the sadistic witch at almost every opportunity. The view from her window was somewhat lacklustre, which definitely explained the lack of visitors to this part of the castle, it was out of the way, cold and a rather disappointing sight. The other couples (here she smiled in disbelief at the word in relation to her own situation) at Hogwarts would chose windows with lake views usually, and at night. Not just after breakfast on a Tuesday morning. After a few moments of thought and impatience Hermione stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the hollow windows, her breath condensing as it left her lips. Coming from a Muggle family she always marvelled at how Hogwarts was always kept warm even though doors were frequently left open and some corridors, like this one, weren’t entirely closed in. She began to feel anxious that a reply would never come and that the owl she sent got lost, or killed, that Bellatrix hadn’t and wouldn’t get her note. She felt sad for the poor creature, and likened it’s fate to her own - flying out on a whim to deliver a note to a notorious witch and being killed either in transit or on arrival. Hermione sighed with sorrow at the shaky simile as she promised to herself to be kinder to owls in the future.

At her back Hermione heard a familiar sound, the sound of apparation, and turned around to see Bellatrix perched on the windowsill she’d just been sitting on as black particles of smoke evaporated off her. Quietly, she admired the poise and balance the older witch possessed, she’d struggled to sit on the awkwardly moulded and all too shallow ledge but apparently Bellatrix had no problems with it at all.

“You called?” Were her only words, as an expectant look wrought itself across her sublime features. “You know, I can’t just come runn-” Here, Hermione cut her off.

“Bellatrix I can’t have dreams about you anymore!” She blurted out, at the surprise of both herself and the dark witch in front of her.

The older woman rose from her perch on the windowsill and walked calmly toward Hermione with an expression of disbelief mixed with humour. It was only then, as she watched the slowly advancing Death Eater, that Hermione realised what she had done - she’d interrupted Bellatrix Lestrange. In her throat her pulse began to quiver and her palms started sweating again as the familiar sound of footsteps closed in on her. Sure, she had allowed Bellatrix to feel her up in the belltower but surely that wasn’t quite clause enough not to kill her, or perhaps just to hurt her. Hermione begun to feel alarmed at just how close Bellatrix had decided to come, the maddening look on her face scared her infinitely as she decided that she would look indifferent and strong, after all, that had always had rather agreeable outcomes in her dreams. Straightening her posture and holding her shoulders back Hermione raised her chin slightly to the slowly advancing witch, in an attempt to look composed. One of her eyebrows raised almost automatically, just like what happened when she answered her professors’ questions. Bellatrix came to a stop only inches in front of Hermione, so that she feared if she exhaled with too much vehemence her collapsing shoulders may drive her to brush a piece of her body against the older witch. She figured it was more motivation to uphold her current pose.

“Did you just interrupt me, Mudblood? Not many people have done that and lived, you see, so you might have just given me an obligation I shouldn‘t like to fulfil.” Her voice came frighteningly low.

Hermione still stood confidently in the face of the older witch, and since her chin was raised and her eyes intently focused on Bellatrix’s she hardly noticed the woman’s arms lift by her sides and reach out toward her own body. That is, until the clawed hands of Bellatrix Lestrange made contact, on either side, with the groove of her waist; the slender digits clung to her contours as closely as the sweater she’d decided to wear that day. Unprepared for the sudden touch Hermione gasped while still looking into Bellatrix’s eyes which made the older witch smirk a little. She had been rattled, but Hermione wouldn’t allow herself to look weak and still stood as straight as she could while the Death Eater with her hands on Hermione’s hips went largely unnoticed. Seeing the sheer willpower bubble up in this young girl again Bellatrix felt, once more, compelled to break her. The older witch took a few little steps closer to the girl until they could get, literally, no closer. Bellatrix’s pelvis now pressed mercilessly against Hermione’s as her back arched outward allowing her space to focus on the young witch. Cruelly, it was Hermione’s want for eye contact and a reassurance of her own strength which made the sensational pressure across and around her hips much firmer. They starred into each others eyes for a moment as liquid heat began to pool between Hermione’s legs.

“Is my little Muddy having too many dreams about mean, old Bellatrix?” Bellatrix whispered, her breath thick with warmth and cruelty.

Here, Bellatrix’s hands began to knead gently at Hermione’s flesh, her thumbs pressed into Hermione’s abdomen, so far away from where the younger witch wanted them to be. At the touch her brow furrowed and her breath began to hitch in her throat as strong fingers mercilessly clutched at her sides. Her composure had been well and truly broken as she heard a low giggle escape from Bellatrix’s lips, who was no doubt revelling in her victory.

“Do you not like my kisses, Hermione?” The witch continued.

Another gasp escaped Hermione’s lips as Bellatrix stepped away from her, taking with her all the delicious contact she, and the butterflies in her abdomen, had enjoyed so much. The older witch smiled a malicious smile as she walked backwards, giggling at Hermione’s forlorn expression. Hermione’s hands formed fists at her side as she realised just now would have been the perfect opportunity to spread her fingers out across Bellatrix’s back and hips. Silently, she cursed herself.

“I’m not like those boys you’ve let touch you in the past, you slutty Mudblood. I won’t let you kiss me because we’ve only just met!” The older witch was now some distance away from her down the corridor as her voice echoed off the stone walls and floors, bouncing back to Hermione.

For an unexplained reason, then, Hermione began to smile as she chased the cooing Death Eater down the disused corridors of Hogwarts where no one wanted to spend their time.

 


	9. Chapter 9

  
Hermione always found the idea of thinking about someone while she… Well, she’d found the whole concept to be a little vulgar, really. At least, in the past. She could imagine anything she wanted to in this moment. Though, her mind, in the grips of such ecstasy, struggled to show images to her of more than a few seconds but those few seconds would be as much as she could handle.

Colours and tone began to swirl in front of her eyes as a familiar quickening within her arose. The muscles in her forearm blindly tensing and becoming slack as a creamy opalescence, a pearly whiteness, swam before her eyes. Hermione imagined herself again in the prefects bathroom, on the night that Bellatrix had left her that note which she so treasured. The loops and dips of the older witch’s handwriting was so familiar to her now that she often found herself writing like the dark witch and hardly realising it. Around her the marble details of the prefect’s bathroom jutted out at her more than they did in reality, some parts of the room which she could not recall simply drifted into a grey-ish blur as her eyes clenched closed in want of clarity and release.

_Hermione would feel the warmth of the water surrounding her, she would sense that Bellatrix was near. Seemingly from nowhere, the dark witch would be in the bath with her, the movement of her lithe body sending waves through the bath which would lave at Hermione’s chest and neck. Conveniently, Bellatrix drifted over to her in the water with only her shoulders and head rupturing through the mountainous bubbles, she wanted to unveil the splendour of the older witch with her eyes, and not her imagination and thus, didn’t dare let her eyes drift below the waterline._

The friction of Hermione’s forearm rubbing against her bare stomach increased as her breath became increasingly ragged and deep.

_Bellatrix’s hands would suddenly come to rest on her shoulders, the witch’s long nails digging slightly into her flesh. The older woman would then settle on her lap, the sheer heat irradiating from the dark witch’s core would reach out and caress her in much the same place. Hermione would moan and reach out for the woman, drawing their bodies impossibly close together in the hot water as a thin sheen of satin-like sweat coated their skin. She imagined, then, that Bellatrix might moan into her ear, she might wrap her slender fingers around Hermione’ s neck and become her oxygen. Bellatrix would lean down and began to kiss the girl’s neck as her teeth grated over the soft flesh there, leaving small red trails in their wake._

Hermione then heard herself moan, as if it had occurred somewhere in the distance and she was immediately pulled from her feverish dream. Beneath her fingers the viscous signs of arousal coated her digits as they slid, with familiarity, over the sinew of her core. She squirmed around in her bed, casting the covers off her with her free hand as pulses of heat began to spread throughout her body. Moans began to spill from her lips as she increased her own pace and forced her pelvis up in to her hand in want of more pressure. Hermione closed her eyes to the twilight pouring through her window and imagined something else.

_She found herself again in a familiar setting - the belltower. Bellatrix Lestrange was again walking around her in tighter and tighter circles, she recalled the feeling of absolute terror as the dark witch’s eyes connected with her own, but while she imagined Bellatrix, there was no reason to hold back from the call of the older woman. A call she had felt as soon as she’d laid eyes on her at the Ministry of Magic. Steadily, she advanced on the older witch, Hermione imagined a look of anger in the woman’s eyes which she had secretly come to love. Weightlessly, she drifted across the floor until she stood face to face with Bellatrix. Tentatively she would raise her arms and wrap her hands delicately around the dark witch’s jaw, looking into the black eyes of her supposed foe. Their lips would meet softly at first, but then the sadistic nature of the older woman would take over as teeth would nip at her lips and tongue. Hermione wondered how the woman would have reacted if she’d followed through with her deepest wants in her waking life, whether her own curiosity and lust would earn her a killing curse or a much anticipated kiss. Bellatrix would wrap her arms around the younger witch and draw them closer, Hermione imagined what Bellatrix’s corset would feel like pressed against her, whether she would feel the roughness of it’s stitching or the slick of it’s texture. Suddenly, she imagined then, what it would feel like to have Bellatrix’s corset pressed against her naked stomach, to feel the roughness of it’s stitching as it grated across her abdomen and making her breath hitch in her throat. Hermione began to moan as thoughts of a fully revealed Bellatrix broke her out of her imagination._

A throaty groan of frustration escaped Hermione’s lips as she felt herself getting closer to climax, the thought of Bellatrix still mercilessly roaming through her thoughts as she again increased the pace of her fingers against her, by now, practically molten core.

_In want of something she hadn’t thought the sheer sensuality out of Hermione imagined herself being pinned against a wall by the older woman, with a pressure across her chest as Bellatrix’s chest pushed against her own. She would wrap her hands around the dark witch’s hips, with her fingers digging into the soft, unprotected, flesh there. Hermione imagined the look wrought across the woman’s face, it would be mercilessly intense and resonate unto her core, if it weren’t for the other witch’s body pressed so firmly against her own she was sure she would fall to the ground in a figurative puddle of desire. She tried to think what Bellatrix might say to her, if anything. She had trouble recalling the woman’s voice, as if it had come to her only in feverish hazes, unable to be recalled. Between her legs Bellatrix would force her own, the combination of closeness and delicious pressure would make her see colours. She would draw Bellatrix closer with her arms and Bellatrix would push her thigh upwards, making Hermione moan from the pit of her stomach._

Hermione could hardly bear the suspense and frustration any longer, through a veil of sweat and flashing colours she wished for Bellatrix, for Bellatrix’s touch and for Bellatrix’s fingers. The young witch began to keen as she came closer to her goal and thoughts of the older witch ran rampant through her body, in the form of shivers and gasps.

_Hermione then imagined herself in a non-descript location, with non-descript features, she didn’t really care about detail in her feverish fantasies at the moment, she imagined Bellatrix in front of her with an uncharacteristic attribute of submissiveness. She would slowly peel the clothes from the older witch’s skin, the flesh of the woman materialising before her eyes as milky and luminescent as moonlight. The corset her thoughts had so lingered on unfastened at her back and evaporated into grey matter as Hermione would reach out for the bindings of the woman’s dress and carefully pull them free. She desperately tried to imagine what Bellatrix would look like totally revealed, what her breasts would look like and what shape her navel would be. Here, Hermione’s imagination failed her as she couldn’t fathom the beauty of a naked Bellatrix Lestrange. She turned her thoughts to the feel of the older woman, she would tentatively slide her hand down the flat expanses of pulsing stomach and feel, at her fingertips, the wiry curls of the dark witch wrapping themselves around her fingers as she slid her hand lower, into the slick heat which she hadn’t expected to be so prevalent. Hermione would wind her fingers over this heat and slickness, she would hear the older witch struggling to breathe as nails clawed into the flesh of her neck. She felt her fingers following the same pace at her own core as she imagined at Bellatrix’s. The unmistakable moaning coming from the dark witch’s lips would send Hermione over the edge as her mind, for once tonight, presented the clearest and most seductive image for her to lave over - the image of Bellatrix in a moment of orgasm._

Hermione’s eyes flung open as the blueness of the evening light surprised her. Simultaneously every muscle in her body tensed and pulsated as the fulfilment of her core sent waves of pleasure throughout her body, as thick as molasses which dripped inside of her. Amidst the uncontrollable moans Hermione whispered Bellatrix’s name, this woman who had come into her life so suddenly, leaving her baffled and confused, was now the subject of her utmost attraction. Hermione’s body squirmed as it rode the last pulses of orgasm as sweat stuck to her skin like glue.

And then there was stillness. She felt remarkably alone in her bed with the moonlight streaming through the window like an unseen being’s breath. Hermione had thought of nothing but Bellatrix during her… endeavour. She felt alone now, and wondered when she would see the older witch again.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione hadn’t seen Bellatrix in what felt like weeks, all time keepers seemed to fail her as the days blended together like mud. She spent her days aimlessly wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of the older witch to think about studying. She’d walked down to the boat house a few times, in hopes of seeing the woman appear somewhere along the shore. But there was nothing. All week, nothing. The last time she’d seen Bellatrix a false sense of security had overcome her as she followed the dark witch around a corner, she followed her with a smile on her lips which quickly faded as she turned down the corridor only to be faced with the ashen remnants of the witch as she apparated cruelly away. Hermione felt abandoned, she wished some nights that Bellatrix would either stay or go instead of stringing her along in some sort of aching limbo. A quiet voice inside her head assured her calmly that no matter what she said to herself she would always want the woman around. Hermione sighed to herself, admitting it was true, and continued to walk down this most familiar corridor with her eyes floating along the stone floor.

Just like all the other days of that week Hermione had no particular goal or destination, but continued on walking just the same. Perhaps she would go and have a look at the other houses common rooms, or at least the portraits that guarded them. Sighing with indecisiveness Hermione continued wandering aimlessly. Behind her she heard a rustling, and a gush of wind flooded past her legs as the sound of feathers filled her ears. Slowly Hermione turned around, her furrowed brow revealing her confusion at the flurry of wings. Though there was no trace of an owl, no trace of anyone in fact, there was a small folded note quivering on the floor, as if it were frightened of Hermione’s presence. A smile spread across her lips at the notion of receiving another note from Bellatrix, her heart began to pound in her chest and adrenaline coursed through her veins like oxygen as she stepped closer to the comparatively small note resting on the cold stone floor. Stopping in front of the note Hermione lowered herself to the floor, so that she sat on her own feet with her shins folded underneath her. She felt a little angry at this note, this small and insignificant note, for taking the place of Bellatrix. Or perhaps she wasn’t angry at the note at all, and instead annoyed that the dark witch had deserted her in this huge castle after being so… persistent. Feeling a little sorry for the frightened note on the floor Hermione smiled at it as she lifted it off the ground, it was better than nothing, she supposed, to receive a note, no matter how small.

The paper unfolded much like the others, the same familiar crackle of resistance as it’s folds were reversed and stretched. The same colour, the same handwriting. A new message this time, though, one that made her angry again. Not with Bellatrix and not with the note, with herself.

_I hope you had a fun time last night, Muddy. By the looks of it you certainly don’t need me anymore._

A jolt of frustration struck her as quickly as a heartbeat. It was such a spiteful little note that Hermione had to exercise great restraint not to screw the paper up in her hand and throw it off the side of the castle. She felt guilty at having channelled her frustrations the night before, as if stopping herself would have summoned Bellatrix. Bellatrix, Bellatrix, she thought. If she were around a little more, wasn’t so cruel or perhaps told Hermione her intentions instead of sending her notes and disappearing into smoke at any chance she got. It wasn’t as if they could get caught, Hermione had scarcely seen a dozen people since the start of the holidays, and most of those were during meals.

Her eyes lingered on the sullen note a moment longer, before she folded it up - taking care to make sure it’s folds were neat and even. Hermione hesitated briefly, she hesitated at the site of the thing, at the thought of it’s language, at it’s… cruelty. Instead of slipping the small rectangular wad of paper into her bra with the others, she pressed it lightly between her thumb and forefinger before slipping it almost carelessly into her pocket. She used to think that she would treasure anything from the dark witch, anything at all. Simple words floating from the woman’s lips and falling on her ears, a glance perhaps or even a tangible memory, like those notes she so loved. But this note, this note, was different, it was cruel and merciless. Hermione thought over it again, it was intended to be malicious, to make her grimace. And it did. So in that moment, when the paper was pressed between her thumb and forefinger, Hermione slid the note into her pocket. And now she puts this note away from the others.

Angered by the little note, by those few words, Hermione began storming down Hogwarts’ infinite corridors, past hundreds of windows, past portraits of all sorts of witches and wizards, she hardly noticed them anymore - the brown and sunken pallets seemed to sink into the wall rather than supply any sort of ornamental value. Corners followed corners as the young witch walked around the incredibly familiar castle, by now she knew these pathways so well she could navigate them in her sleep, should she ever find herself so restless. Aimlessly she wandered the stony labyrinth, her feet slamming against the hard floor as frustration and rage began to swirl inside her, like some acrid smoke which ought to pour off Death Eaters. As Hermione stormed down the halls and stairways an anxious weight began to press onto her shoulders, nervously she walked faster, trying her best to appear composed as she accelerated her movements while starting at the floor. Anxious questions began to sift into her head, perhaps someone had seen her with the note? Surely they would want answers about the note from nowhere, the note she’d read over slowly, the note she’d folded up neatly - and put away from the others. Glancing over her shoulder she saw no one, but still the anxious feeling of observance lingered with her, like a bad taste she couldn’t quite swallow. Hermione shook her head from side to side, to cast off her anxiety and continue walking to nowhere in particular.

“Why do I always find you storming down corridors?” The familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange clung to her ears like mud, encasing them so she could hear nothing else.

Hermione was used to the dark witch’s spontaneous appearances, she wasn’t as frightened as she once was when the older woman appeared out of nowhere, silently and softly - just like smoke. She didn’t so much mind Bellatrix’s entrances and exits, the thing which made her mad was how inconsistent they were, she could never call for the woman - because she would not come. She could never tell the woman to go away - because she would not go. The total lack of control over Bellatrix both frightened and excited Hermione, which was why she would never deny the dark witch, no matter what she wanted. She hated that about her. Or did she love it?

Within her chest Hermione’s Gryffindor heart roared - her lips began to form words before she could even think about Bellatrix’s history, about her temper and as she turned around to face the older witch she wasn’t afraid. “It’s nice of you to show up.”

The eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange widened in awe, a sight which Hermione, marvelling in her own courage, smirked at. In the woman’s absence she had become more determined than ever with a dangerous mix of lust and fear.

“Is little Muddy upset that I haven’t visited her for a while, is she sad that mean old Bellatrix didn’t come and fuck her?” Hermione felt the bitter taste of malice dripping from the woman’s lips. “Well, I’m sorry Muddy Hermione, but you see, it takes too long to clean myself after being with you - so I don’t like to do it often! And why should I be, Purebloods don’t hang around with Mudbloods.” Bellatrix’s playful yet cruel voice pierced right through her courageous chest, her spiteful barb becoming entangled with the fibres of her heart, making it ache. In their time apart Hermione had forgotten how the woman made her feel.

Sighing with defeat Hermione walked over to the dark haired witch, her eyes grazed along the floor before flashing upwards to meet Bellatrix’s, who had a look of satisfaction on her face. She would never win a battle of wills against this woman, not when the dark witch knew no shame.

“Why is it,” Hermione said, coming to a stop in front of the woman, “that you seem to be watching me all the time but only show your self every so often?” A playful smile spread across the face of the witch and even permeated her black eyes.

“I’ve told you before, Muddy, I can’t spend all my time with you - no matter how hard you stamp your feet.” Bellatrix’s playful smile morphed into a look of sarcastic understanding, her thick brows arching upwards making her look, to the oblivious, innocent.

The Gryffindor Lion again roared near her heart as a wave of pride rushed through her, it made Hermione clench her fists and raise an eyebrow to the woman, in some semblance of dignity. “I was not stamping my feet.” In wanting to sound composed and unwavering Hermione’s prose fell from her lips as if she were a child, disagreeing on principle.

Here, Bellatrix’s voice became low as she giggled at the flustered girl in front of her. Hermione clenched her jaw as she noticed the woman moving towards her, they were closer now, but still not close enough. Hermione saw movement coming from around the woman’s waist as claw-like hands rose up and up, the fabric of the dark witch’s sleeves bunching at her elbow as her hands raised in line with her shoulder. Blood began to pump quickly around her body, making her cheeks feel hot and her palms sweaty as Bellatrix took a few small, infinitely calculated, steps towards her with her hands raised. As the sharp points of the Death Eater’s nails kissed at her neck Hermione shivered, she shivered more when the nails scraped over the sides of her neck as fleshy pads of the woman’s fingers slid over her veins and came together, encasing her throat. Slowly, the woman’s clasped hands slid upwards, over her jaw and up onto her cheeks, the strong thumbs of Bellatrix Lestrange resting on her cheek bones as slender fingers cradled her ears between them. Hermione refused to show any sign of pleasure to the witch and stood stoically, as if nothing had changed.

“I’m sorry for upsetting my Mudblood, but a Death Eater has things to do.” Bellatrix giggled as her fingers flexed lightly against Hermione’s soft flesh.

Death Eater, she thought. Only when the words came from the woman’s lips did she believe them, that this witch was so purely evil and full of hate, but at the same time, there she was - with her hands around Hermione Granger’s filthy head. Looking into her, apparently, muddy-brown eyes. Images of Bellatrix’s crimes filled the girl’s head, all the screams and blood, the death and sunken, hollow eyes of her victims, the breaking of wills and the begs for death. Hermione winced as the bitter thoughts were pumped out of her brain and into her heart, making it ache suddenly, making it sink down and grind on her stomach as if it were made of stone. A look of sadistic pleasure swept across the woman’s face in front of her as she felt the fingers embracing her face twinge in joy, she knew this look and she knew that Bellatrix had no doubt just thought of something awful to say.

“Did Hermione forget what Death Eaters do to all the filthy little Mudbloods, like you? Little Muddy, in love with Bellatrix! Looks like Hogwarts’ Golden Student ain’t so clever after all, eh? Falling for an escapee of Azkaban,” Here, Bellatrix’s cruel prose took a playfully sadistic turn, “I was innocent, I swear. I would never harm anyone, no matter how filthy their blood was! Or at least, we can pretend, if it makes you feel better about touching yourself at night while thinking about me.” The dark witch took a step backward, her arms becoming slack as her hands grazed over Hermione’s face, leaving little red trails in their wake. An audible groan slithered from Hermione’s lips as she cursed the cool air for reaching her cheeks. From beneath her now closed eyes she heard, again, the playful voice of Bellatrix coo to her, just like a lover.

“It looks like Muddy isn’t too angry with me after all.”

Hermione felt the woman again walk closer to her, the foreign yet soothing scent of the dark witch’s skin dancing on her senses, clear as black print on a page one moment and disappearing into memory the next. Hermione wanted to feel heat, to be closer, always closer. But when she felt the woman’s hands gently come into contact with her own all her thoughts ceased, like smoke dissolving into clear sky. The long and haggard nails of the dark witch scraped over the sensitive flesh of her palms, moving slowly, slowly, up towards her wrist - she shivered when their points prised at the seam of her wrist. Hermione sighed deeply when Bellatrix’s warm hand fell into her own as the nails climbed higher up her arm. She watched the slender and sinewy fingers crawl over her skin and revelled in the sensations, in the warm, shifting feeling in her stomach and, also, in observing the slight tremble which plagued those usually self-assured hands. A small smile spread across her lips, Hermione was remarkably pleased with herself at not breaking out in moans as she imagined those slender fingers wandering all over her lithe body, at the thought of those claws raking across her skin. At the sight of Bellatrix’s shaky hands Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter closed, losing her own physical presence in the sheer sensations of want and lust pouring through her entire body. She decided, then, that if this woman was shaking it meant she was nervous and if she was nervous it meant she actually did feel something like what she felt for Bellatrix, the same confusing and exhilarating mix of absolute desire and terror at once. Lifting her eyes from the fingers on her skin Hermione searched for the dark witch’s eyes only to be caught by their lids who had almost fluttered shut. In a competitive surge Hermione decided it was time for her to be the first to move. Suddenly, and without warning, verbal or otherwise, Hermione lurched forward and wrapped her free arm around Bellatrix’s waist, immediately she felt the rough texture of the woman’s corset, of the individual stitches which felt so much better than she’d imagined them to feel. And there was an explicit softness which she hadn’t expected to feel, as the smooth leather beneath her hand and arm gave a little as their bodies pressed together. At her front Hermione felt a pool of warmth, not likened to arousal but instead it was the closeness of the two women that produced the heat. All at once Hermione decided that this felt better than she ever imagined it could. And she had certainly tried to imagine it.

The smoky rasp of Bellatrix’s voice kissed Hermione’s ears like the lips she wished would, her fingers stroked anxiously and excitedly at the electric sensations travelling through the fabric of her clothing right into her heart. Hermione found herself glass eyed and fully internalised, as if unable to calculate the situation in it’s entirety. Her hands, her arms, holding Bellatrix Lestrange in place, keeping her tight. A moan resonated in her head as she felt the fingers tangled with hers like rope shift and withdraw as the dark witch’s arm slithered around her waist like a serpent. Here, they stood together, practically in the same place. Hermione squeezed the woman closer, the warmth of her body penetrating to each of their cores as they stood in silence with hitching breath. Mutually, their eyes shifted, as if by some unseen signal of readiness, and just as lovers the two women’s eyes locked. The mellowed blackness of the dark witch’s eyes took her off guard, an unfamiliar shade of warmth graced their glossy surface. Hermione could hear the woman purring into the touch, feel the gentle expansion and compression of her ribs as they sucked oxygen into her surprisingly delicate body. It was in this moment Hermione came to know Bellatrix as a woman, as a person, as a human. A human she could love.

Silently and slowly the distance between them shrunk, it waned and withered until, between their lips, there was only a tether of warm, sweet breath. Hermione’s heart began to pound in her chest as all too familiar butterflies surged into her stomach. She could practically taste the older witch’s breath dancing on her tongue, the pool of foreign heat dripping down her chin, down her chest and evaporating into the cool winter air. Hermione sucked in a final breath of air as their lips met.

Warm lips, so warm. There was a pureness she hadn’t known in all her life in their kiss, in their embrace, in the way their feet were stood in almost the same spot. Hermione had often wondered what it should feel like to kiss someone, and decided that this was it. She felt the woman in her arms shift with pleasure, forcing more contact between their bodies, more contact between their lips. She felt the hands at her waist shift upwards, so they cradled her shoulders too - she felt so surrounded and encased. But decided she couldn’t have imagined it better than this. Hermione’s spirit began to wane beneath her skin as she felt Bellatrix’s lips begin to move against her own, she could feel the soft ripples of flesh, their delicate creases. The delicate creases of those full and wanting lips moving on her own. Unrestrained by conventions Hermione dragged her arm from around Bellatrix’s waist and placed her hand on the woman’s jaw. She had often found her eyes lingering on the seemingly impossible contours of it’s beauty, but never before had she dared to reach out and touch it. She loved the way it felt under her fingers, she loved it’s sharpness and she loved how firmly the jaw was pressing into her own as their kiss continued. Presumably from the back of Bellatrix’s throat Hermione heard a moan as her hand came into contact with the soft flesh of the dark witch’s jaw, she smiled into the kiss as she let her fingers dig gently into the skin beneath them. Hermione loved that Bellatrix’s infamous composure and general coldness was crumbling after just one kiss. In want of a more vehement reaction Hermione parted her pink lips slightly and slid her tongue cautiously out until it made the lightest of contact with the older witch’s lips. She sensed in Bellatrix’s lips a very slight pause in motion, as if startled by the contact. Hermione let her tongue lave freely and rhythmically over the tender flesh as she felt the hands pressed so firmly at her back begin to tremble. Finally, Hermione felt like she was besting Bellatrix Lestrange. Her lips began to stretch out as the older witch pulled away from her, before she could reactt Hermione found herself looking into the dark and wide eyes of the woman, her swollen and reddened lips betraying their actions as fervently the eyes shifted gaze from left to right. She recognised the look on the woman’s face, she’d seen it a few times, though, this time there was something else. It was fear. And she knew what was coming next. Instinctively her hands tightened around Bellatrix’s waist and jaw, wanting to keep her closer and stop her from leaving, to not let her go. But it was frivolous, and she knew it. The black glassy orbs churned into smoke as the pleasant, warm feeling at her stomach disappeared and her arms fell slack by her sides. Around her ashen particles swam in the air and vanished slowly. Though Bellatrix had left her once again Hermione merely stood in the same place she had been when she’d kissed Bellatrix Lestrange, the infamous sadist and Death Eater, and smirked - feeling victorious.

 


	11. Chapter 11

  
Hermione found herself walking across Hogwarts’ grounds at a time she would usually be in the library reading, or perhaps in the common room by the fire. Though now here she was drifting quietly over the dewy grass, the icy drops of water lifting off the thin blades and twigs and collecting at the hem of her jeans. She could feel the cold air seep through her shoes like liquid into a sponge. In front of her eyes Hermione could see her breath floating, the mist falling from her lips as easily as language came to her. Behind her now the sun was falling quickly, the pink skies of dusk were replaced that evening with clouds and a sullen grey sky, which faded into a deep violet as the light evaporated like steam. Were there no clouds at that time Hermione would surely be bathed in a golden light, the grass and leaves all around her would be too, the breath from her lips would be gilded like the words of a lover as she walked down toward the Forbidden Forest, but not tonight - no, tonight was grey, dark and colourless. And even the grey was being suffocated by darkness as she got ever closer to the multitudinous trees, the multitudinous seas.

  
As Hermione got closer to the forest the flora around her was more an more unkempt, stray roots and sticks clutched at her feet as she tried to move over them. The sun had dissolved long ago and left only it’s after image, swirling in her eyes. The smell of the night surrounded her now, the smell of dampness and leaves, of stale air and moss. Hermione was so used to the earthen smell of Hogwarts’ corridors and classrooms that now the scent of the evening seemed it’s strongest, as if she were smelling it for the first time. Hermione questioned why she was walking into the Forbidden Forest, freely and without purpose. It was as if the breeze had lifted her from the castle and was urging her toward the wall of trees. How far would she go in? Would she become lost? A smile came to her lips as she thought of Bellatrix, as she thought of the kiss they had shared. Her smile quickly became a smirk as she remembered how the woman ran from her, ran from the feeling which no doubt made itself known between her legs. It was a victory for Hermione, and a loss for Bellatrix. The dark witch was a proud creature and Hermione had damaged her pride, she had made Bellatrix seem almost vulnerable as her hands trembled at the girl’s kiss - oh yes, Madam Lestrange would be licking her wounds somewhere. At this thought Hermione bit her lip intently.

  
It was as if she had an invisible tether drawing her into the woods, Hermione couldn’t stop herself. In a moment of comparison she likened it to reading a book she couldn’t put down, desperate to see what happened next. Around her the trees began to grow thicker, light from the dusk could scarcely squeak though the trees and she found herself in darkness. Beneath her feet the damp ground reflected what little luminescence there was and looked, she thought, like celestial glitter surrounded by a curtain of blackness. Stumbling over the serpentine roots growing from every patch of earth Hermione though perhaps that she might be bewitched, though, someone who allows their subject to realise they’re bewitched wouldn’t be very good with spells - no, Bellatrix was much better than that. Perhaps she was dreaming, here, as she uncouthly floated over the uneven ground, she hardly remembered leaving the castle, where was she before she began walking aimlessly through the forest? Nothing seemed right. Why, why, why? The words rolled around in her head, but sure enough she continued on walking, between the trees and over the tethers of root. In no particular direction.

The trees were thicker now, she felt so small among their dizzying heights, their mottled trunks and their ancient leaves. So out of place she was amongst the wild trees, with her feet on the soggy and rotten ground. The blackness was impenetrable, before her eyes colours began to shift as they desperately wanted to see something else. Something colourful or maybe even light itself - instead of this deep black surrounding her. Ahead of her she saw the night shift, but only for a moment. She stopped in her tracks and strained her ears to hear anything, but she heard everything. Suddenly the whole forest seemed to be alive with sound, every swaying leaf and every tiny insect sounded like power tools and relentless hammering at a construction site in London. Just a moment ago she had been plunged in silence, but now as she tried to listen for a sound of footsteps, perhaps, she heard everything. Even the blood in her own ears sounded immensely and unreasonably loud, the hissing of it rushing around in her head smothered all other noise. Hermione gave up on listening and instead advanced slowly in the direction of the shifting night, was it a figure? Or was it just a tree moving? Perhaps it was nothing at all.

“Lumos.” The word fell from her lips as a whisper, but at once it seemed to make the entire forest silent.

As she waved the clean orb of light around in front of her Hermione realised that all the light around her seemed to have vanished, as if it were sucked into her wand. Her eyes struggled to see much of anything past the ball of light and she decided that it would have been better if she didn’t cast Lumos at all. Slipping the wand back into her pocket Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, in an effort to regain her night vision. Peering between the trees, or the black columns she thought were trees, Hermione could see nothing.

Cautiously, her lips began to form, which was by now, a most familiar name, “Bellatrix?”

Silence laved over her as she listened for a reply, she knew the dark witch had to be out here somewhere, no one else could make her walk into the Forbidden Forest without knowing why. Chilled breath raked in over her lips as she breathed steadily in wait of a reply. She heard the insects and trees again, the swirling of blood inside her head and then she heard, in the distance, the sound of rustling, the sounds of movement. It was then that the danger of the situation dawned on her, there were all sorts of awful creatures in this forest, which she was wandering through calling the name of a convicted Death Eater.

Slowly she moved in the direction of the noise, taking care not to make any sounds herself. Steadily her chest rose and fell with each breath. Adrenaline coursed through her heart, making it beat loudly in her chest. Silence. Rustling. Breathe in. And out. She felt like an animal stalking it’s prey. She felt how Bellatrix must feel. She felt cold.

Again her lips formed the woman’s name, “Bellatrix?” she called into the darkness.

Patiently she listened for another sound. Paralysed, standing still, she heard nothing. Just as she breathed in Hermione heard a murmur. The murmur of leaves, of twigs - the murmur of movement. The rustling was further away now, deeper into the woods. Hermione didn’t fear how deep Bellatrix would take her, she’d relinquished control long ago. She felt the cold night air stick to her forehead, looking up through the web of trees she saw the moon. She’d watched it crawl across the sky many times, while waiting for the older witch to show. The other students would return soon. And what would she tell them? How could she face Ron and Harry again, while her mind was with Bellatrix. Bellatrix, Bellatrix… Hermione’s thoughts lifted from her friends and returned to the darkened wood. Slowly she began walking in the direction of the rustling, it was much quieter than the first time, the sound could just have easily been made by a small creature, a spider perhaps. If the noise did come from Bellatrix she was moving away, and quickly. Desperate for a sign of the older witch, to catch her scent, to hear her move. Anything. Bellatrix made her wild, like an animal.

On the wind she heard a sound which no one else could make, she heard it echo off the trees and fall upon her ears. Bellatrix’s maniacal laugh came out of the night and sent her running in the direction it came from, desperate to have Bellatrix again. Beneath her, her legs pounded the damp earth relentlessly as the cold night air scraped over her flesh like knives, the wind tugging at her hair and clothes as the frigid night pervaded her body, wrapping itself her now exposed waist like a length of rope. Deeper and deeper into the Forest she ran, sprinting after Bellatrix Lestrange. She could picture the woman laughing as she flowed through the trees as smoke, tormenting her. Who knows how close Hermione had come to her in the darkness. Darting through the trees and bounding over stray roots and fallen trees became almost automatic to her as she ran after the woman, her laugh growing louder and closer. Her chest heaved with fatigue but blinded with want by the Death Eater she ran on through the early moonlight.

Hermione heard, ahead of her, the sound of running mixed with the cackling, Bellatrix was close. Though, still out of sight. Here, she heard something she hadn’t expected to as she ran after the woman through the Forbidden Forest after dark - her own laughter. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous or excited but Hermione started laughing almost hysterically as she chased Bellatrix - it was like the games she’d played as a kid, only a little different. The breath in her lungs started to burn as she tried to laugh and sprint at the same time, she felt her limbs becoming slack but continued to run throwing her feet forward to gain more speed, at this point she didn’t care about anything or anyone but Bellatrix. The air was like gravel as it flowed in and out of her chest and was expelled in jubilant cries.

Engulfed she was then, as Bellatrix’s ashen trail enveloped her. She could feel the lithe particles hitting the parts of her skin which were bare and still she laughed. The woman’s smoky cloud was surrounding her as she sprinted in desperation to keep up with the dark witch, she knew that if she stopped Bellatrix would disappear. It was like a test for her to pass. Hermione felt the ashen particles entangle with her hair and fill her mouth - she tried to breath in as much of the woman as she could. For every cell in her body to be fuelled off a piece of the woman. Blindly Hermione reached out, feeling the mist wrap around her fingers like glue, as if the blackness suddenly had some body to it. Letting go of herself completely Hermione grasped at the vapour until she had a hold of something, her arms quickly followed as she wrapped her limbs around the surprisingly warm mass and dragged it to the ground. Beneath her the ground was harder than she thought it would be and small groans escaped her lips as her body tumbled across the dirt. In her arms Bellatrix still laughed. Wet leaves stuck to her back and she could feel the cold earth penetrating her heaving chest.

When the entangled bodies came to a stop on the forest floor Hermione found herself perched on top of the dark witch. Her heart still pounding between her desperately empty lungs. Looking into the woman’s eyes Hermione wasn’t sure if she saw anger or passion, their wild depths had always thrown her. As Bellatrix squirmed beneath her, she felt the woman’s legs shift and her own weight slipped down onto the witch’s pelvis. She could feel an immense heat present there, radiating through her flesh until it collided gently with her bones. Hermione was amazed that this serpentine woman could produce such heat during the cold night. Looking down at her hands she found them entwined with strands of Bellatrix’s hair and her palms and fingertips sank into the damp soil. Paroxysmally her breath came in and out, partly because she was tired from running and partly because she was straddling Bellatrix Lestrange. She’d always found that word a little vulgar, but now she thought it was anything but. The dark witch’s hands were placed firmly on the ground, her long claws digging into the soil, dirt and dead leaves clinging to her fingers as she tried desperately not to touch the young witch sitting across her pelvis.

Hermione dragged her eyes over the woman beneath her until their eyes locked, her breathlessness continued as they simply looked at each other. It had been a long time since she had looked into someone’s eyes uninterrupted and for so long, she felt the cold of the night drift away from her and a swirling, gilded feeling grace her core. In that moment it was as if they were both suspended in a pool of blackness as Bellatrix’s cloak spread out on the earth around them.

Suddenly, Hermione found her lips pressed against Bellatrix’s, taking lead for herself she decided to kiss the older witch before she could evaporate into nothing. Her body pressed more firmly into the slight give of the woman’s body as a small sound of surprise escaped the Death Eater’s lips. This was not a delicate kiss - as Hermione’s lips began to lave slowly over the older woman’s - no, it was a kiss of possession. She wanted to consume this sadist, this witch. To draw their beings infinitely close together, and explicitly bind them so that no matter how many times Bellatrix apparated away she could never leave, always to return. On her lips she could taste the sourness of fatigue and the salty hint of skin as Bellatrix began to kiss her back. Their lips crushed together, veiled by satiny flesh, while the woman between her legs began to writhe in pure frustration. Hermione suddenly felt the woman’s arms shift and found the slender clawed fingers buried in her own hair. Grains of dirt began to fall into her hair as the ground-covered fingers imparted their outer coating of debris. Hermione wanted everything that was Bellatrix, and she wanted it all at once. This woman made her crazy.

She began to feel dizzy, her hands felt awkward and light and as she opened her eyes she saw that Bellatrix was apparating and taking her too, into the cloud of black smoke. Instinctively she latched onto the woman and prepared to disappear in this most agreeable of positions.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Around her Hermione’s whole world seemed to shift ceaselessly, she wasn’t sure which way was up, whether she was standing or even if she was awake. Her stomach churned and her eyelids seemed as if they had never been able to open. There was a sense of timelessness that laved over her slackened body then, all at once things seemed achingly slow and all too fast. Hermione thought perhaps she was dreaming, she was dreaming about… something. About blackness and being dizzy, about a strange warm feeling which, perhaps, she thought could be her body wrapped too tightly in her quilt. Suddenly she became aware of something soft, which even in her dreaming state she knew to be her bed. She recognised it’s scent through the veil of sleep. She didn’t remember going to bed, nor did Hermione remember what happened the evening before - though, it wasn’t extraordinary for her not to remember how she got into bed in her newly wakeful states. Slowly she breathed in and out and much to her own confusion the scent of dirt played at her nostrils, had she been outside recently? A warmth pressed itself to both her back and her stomach as she roused herself gently from under the draws of slumber. Gradually her eyes slipped open and her bedside table came slowly into focus as the candle perched atop it flickered happily in the moonlight. It’s orange glow blinded her for a moment and so she waited for her eyes to adjust to the night.

Confused she was then, to notice that hanging over the edge of her bed was, what looked like, a cascade of black cloth and the realisation slowly dawned on her that she, in fact, had no black bedspreads or quilts and hadn’t worn her cloak the entire time she’d been at Hogwarts after being hit by a spell in The Ministry. Where she’d seen Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix. Oh. Feeling something - no, someone - shift against her stomach Hermione’s eyes suddenly opened wide, instantly she remembered where she was and how she’d gotten there as adrenaline coursed through her body making her hands close to fists in a split second. She hadn’t been sleeping, no, she’d been in The Forbidden Forest, running through the night after this woman and then, then, she had kissed her. And that woman was lying on top of her now. Hermione’s curiosity overcame her once more and she peered down to her own stomach to find it covered with Bellatrix’s, she had been on top the dark witch in the forest but somewhere during the apparation she’d managed to land on the bottom with the insufferably attractive Death Eater settled comfortably between her legs. On either side of her head the woman’s arms were haphazardly placed, not quite carelessly. Hermione could feel the absolute closeness the two shared at the hips, they seemed to fit together perfectly - Ron always felt awkward when he tried to force himself into her, his bony pelvis was entirely the wrong shape. But this woman, this sadist, criminally insane witch - she fit.

It was as if she’d been existing in slow motion, and her whole world sped up when she looked at Bellatrix, who didn’t seem to notice her apparently very brief moment of confusion. The fully composed woman perched on top of her suddenly leaned forward, an entirely pleasant pressure made itself known across her stomach as the Death Eater arced down toward her. She felt the hard leather of Bellatrix’s corset press into her stomach through her clothes, she felt a thickness of flesh and sighed a little as she realised the dark witch’s breasts were pressing against her own. For so long she’d kept notes tucked into her bra so they might connect the two of them, she thought it silly, then, as the fleshy and soft contact of her womanhood was indescribable. Hermione felt warm breath on her neck which made her shiver as full lips plucked at her ear. Slowly, as if tumbling, the lips snaked their way down her earlobe, down the line of her jaw, like water, until finally they pooled on her neck. There was a certain wanton rhythm to the kisses, like chewing, like consuming. As if Bellatrix meant to pull flesh from the girl’s bones and devour it. A low moan dripped from her lips like honey as solid teeth, Bellatrix’s teeth, grazed her neck. It was an exceptional sensation, the gentle toying with muscles beneath skin in the hollow below her ear. As if a massive weight tugged at her eyes she was unable to keep them open as the woman laved kisses and surprisingly delicate bites across the rope like muscles of her neck. Hermione felt her hands, as if they belonged to someone else and she was simply observing them, lift up from the bed and were pulled by some unseen force towards Bellatrix’s body, where they snaked around her neck. There she found the most unimaginable mix of warmth and softness, as if all of the dark witch’s humanity were tucked away in a tiny patch at the back of her head. Hermione had no shyness, no reservations, no fear then, as Bellatrix kissed, sucked and bit at her neck and ear. The hands around Bellatrix’s throat clenched and drew her closer as moans freely poured from Hermione’s lips like clouded breath. Beneath her fingers she felt the velvety skin of the dark witch shift like fabric. To anyone else this scene would look like some clawed and ravenous beast devouring it’s prey. Hermione was silently thankful that she was alone those holidays.

“You taste filthy.” Bellatrix’s hot voice sunk into her head as the coarse whisper sent shivers to her core. At the slur Hermione moaned louder, a little shocked at herself for finding that so attractive.

At her waist Hermione suddenly felt tension and a tugging, for a moment she thought perhaps Bellatrix was trying to prise her from her jeans and was a little disappointed when she felt the familiar sliding of wood as the dark witch took the wand out of her pocket and threw it across the room. Hermione much preferred that method of disarming a witch, Expelliarmus was never that, well, hot. She decided then that Bellatrix wasn’t close enough. Hermione lifted her legs from the bed and wrapped them around the woman’s hips, who giggled lowly in surprise. Not-so-gently she pulled the woman closer into her, so that there was very little, if any, space between their bodies. She revelled in the sensation for a moment there, with the surprisingly strong Death Eater grinding into her and kissing her neck, clinging to the woman with every muscle she had and writhing in ecstasy.

Her breath suddenly came in sputters as an unseen, unheard hand had landed on her throat and begun to squeeze the life out of her. Bellatrix’s long claws dug into the skin coating her Jugular, making colours swim with intensity before her eyes. Her own hands latched onto the sinewy binds as she felt Bellatrix’s continuing bites. When Hermione realised the witch wasn’t going to let go her eyes bolted open to meet the Death Eaters black pupils, she saw within them so many emotions that she thought she was better off chocking in the dark, than facing her predator. Against the moonlight Hermione saw fear, anger and pain nestled in the dark witch’s eyes, all at once she knew that Bellatrix had felt just as confused and frustrated as she had, just as lost. Though she was running out of air and on the verge passing out Hermione released her grip on the strong hand at her throat, letting it squeeze the life and breath out of her. Immediately Bellatrix’s mouth came down to meet her own, her oxygen deprived lips struggled to please the older woman as they fumbled across the silken, warm, moist flesh. Her whole world begun to spin relentlessly, her chest felt like it was going to cave in and behind her eyelids everything was bathed in a sickening green hue. If she didn’t breathe something in soon she was going to pass out, and Hermione was sure that if she did Bellatrix would disappear into smoke. She refused to fail, Hermione Granger doesn’t fail anything. The pressure around her throat released as the Death Eater released her grip, reflexively she inhaled as deeply as her lungs would allow, her own chest filling with air which had been in Bellatrix’s. It was like she’d inhaled the woman - like she could taste her in her throat. Like veracity and life poured from the woman’s lips into her mouth, into her body. There was a pureness to their kiss, while Hermione panted frantically, the exchange of fluids and air, the trading of sensations. Just as she clung to Bellatrix with her heaving chest was the moment that Voldemort and the Aurors no longer mattered.

Taking Bellatrix’s sadistic lead Hermione dragged her teeth lightly, at first, over the woman’s lips as they entered her mouth. She felt the dark witch smirk into their kiss and, this time, bit down into the soft flesh harder, to trap it between her teeth, like a trapped creature. A low moan spilled from the woman’s mouth as she closed her teeth, secretly hoping to draw blood. Hermione didn’t really notice it then, but as she kissed Bellatrix for all she was worth, the dark witch began removing her damp cardigan and unbuttoned her shirt. Nimble fingers freed the buttons as her shirt fell open, revealing the soft undulating skin beneath. As Bellatrix leaned into the girl beneath her it was then Hermione realised her state of dress, as the cool leather of the woman’s corset dug into her naked skin. Here, she broke the kiss. Slowly, Hermione pulled away from their exchange and removed her arms from around the witch’s neck, though her legs were still tightly wrapped around the woman’s waist - lest she escape.

For a moment she let her eyes tumble over the features in front of her. Bellatrix’s tongue shuffled restlessly inside her mouth and the same look graced her face which had done when she’d first time she’d laid eyes on her. Looking into Bellatrix’s eyes Hermione was sure she almost saw the girl from the photo in the library, with her almost scared expression and slight smirk. She was a talented witch, and Hermione admired that about her. Even though she knew what the magic was used for.

“I can smell you… Though I shouldn’t expect anything less from a filthy Mudblood.” Bellatrix seemed for a moment like she was becoming vulnerable - as if jabbing at Hermione’s blood status kept the her at a comfortable distance.

Here, as she found her thoughts churning over Bellatrix as a vulnerable creature, Hermione felt a certain tightness around her hips and found that the dark witch’s hand was confidently slithering it’s way into her underwear and her inexplicably undone jeans. A sublime mix of pleasure and pain, that’s what Bellatrix was really, so it seemed only fitting, began to pulse and radiate out from her core as the woman on top of her began to produce an immense friction at her pubis - she wasn’t gentle, but Hermione didn’t expect her to be. A distinct band of pressure made itself known to her as the rhythm of Bellatrix’s hand and wrist pushed in and out of her jeans causing them to constrict and release around her waist with every aching stroke. Surges of an unexplainable feeling coursed through her, through every muscle and carnal passage way in her body, it was as if desire and lust travelled on her nervous system and was delivered to each cell in successive jolts. Her muscles began to twitch and convulse with ecstasy as if this pure, golden feeling was fuel to them - they all seemed to sing in unison internally to her about how much they liked Bellatrix. Moans started to fly from her lips as her arms snaked around the woman’s back and drew her in closer. Hermione’s finger tips became like creatures seeking shelter underground as they wantonly grasped at the clothed flesh of the woman’s back. Here, she was again surprised by the dark witch’s strength as she felt herself being ushered up the bed until her back collided gently with her headboard. This new angle seemed to suit Bellatrix better as she felt the heavenly - a word she would have previously considered completely contrary to the woman on top of her - pressure at her pubis increase. Hermione felt Bellatrix’s hand between her legs begin to move a little easier against her sensitive flesh as her body responded to the woman’s touch in a fluid language.

She felt the witch’s weight shift again as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a darkly clad arm reach up toward the headboard, she found herself resting on, where claws and sinewy fingers gripped the wood until they turned white. The rhythm between her legs by now had rendered her almost breathless. Moans were dragged from the pit of her stomach in a voice she hardly recognised. Bellatrix’s kisses, they were more like bites, at her neck slowed momentarily as she felt the woman draw in breath. A groan spilled from her when the hand in her underwear ceased for a moment as she felt the obviously skilled digits sink lower. She felt them sink into her. A cry of pain - or was it pleasure? - filled her ears when the woman, the Death Eater and sadist’s, fingers were forced into her. It was as if everything in her body stopped working. Her ears suddenly were filled with white noise, her eyes suddenly could not open. Her breath, even, seemed lost to her. All that she could comprehend became the sensation of in and out. Her mind seemed to be slowed too, because for a while she couldn’t decide whether she was in the racks of pleasure or pain. Though, retrospectively Hermione would deem it only fitting. After all, that’s what Bellatrix was: the infinitely fine line between pleasure and pain.

Hermione became aware again, slowly, of an immense wetness and heat between her legs as this woman kept a relentless pace. With Ron, Hermione had always thought she liked tender love making, gentle caresses and cuddles afterward. But, with Bellatrix she was a little shocked to realise how much she liked not gentle. At how badly she wanted this woman to push harder, to scratch her, to bite her and to, simply, hurt her. Somewhere along the way Hermione’s jeans had slid down her legs and she felt denim bound around her knees like a snake as she tried to arch her body into Bellatrix’s touch. Her shirt still wrapped around her shoulders, though it was unbuttoned. Her moans became louder as she could feel herself approaching climax, as she felt the luminous serpent within her abdomen churn and spit out it’s acrid venom. Bellatrix seemed to respond instinctively to Hermione’s moans and writhing, the strong muscles of her back which anchored her to the headboard tensed as the digits were drawn from the young witch’s core only to be driven back in a moment later with an unrelenting force. Another rhythm revealed itself to Hermione as she heard the light tapping of the headboard against the wall behind them. Her eyes bolted shut and colours she had never seen before began to flash in front of her eyes. An astounding heat started building in her chest and started drifting, of it’s own accord, down toward her core. Her hands which were still latched onto the woman’s back clenched, driving nails into the covered flesh until..

Bellatrix shifted suddenly and withdrew her fingers from the now incredibly confused witch. Hermione’s ears filled with a distinct ringing and the only noise which was apparent to her was the sound of her own breathing as she looked at Bellatrix for a moment with an expression of utter confusion. Her core continued to pulsate all the while and she thought perhaps she might climax while looking at the woman, rather than having any physical contact with her. Hermione’s vision seemed to be drenched in blue as her eyes adjusted to the light of the room. It felt as if her eyes had never been opened so wide in her entire life. Her limbs felt as if they no longer had any structure, as if, if she weren’t supported by the headboard, she might tumble to the ground and form a flustered, fleshy puddle on the floor. Bellatrix took no notice of Hermione’s confoundedness and lurched forward, lifting her legs up so they rested either side of Hermione’s hips. Again, straddling her. After being denied an absolute pleasure at the last second the young witch was grateful for the pressure now settling across her hips. She could feel the heat coming off Bellatrix’s own core sink down and settle on her own. The dark witch leaned forward and took hold of Hermione’s neck once more, drawing their lips together again. It was almost as if the woman wanted to draw the fully formed orgasm out of her body with a kiss - to suck it up through her spine and lure it into her own body where she would consume it freely. Like a creature drawing a prey out of a burrow. Challenged as she was by the older, and infinitely more self assured witch, Hermione begun to kiss the woman back just as passionately as she was being kissed, she wanted to be equal with this woman, to be bound to her. To conquer her. To strip her of everything.

Hermione’s hands shakily begun feeling for the laces at the back of Bellatrix’s corset, she cursed her fingers then, they felt so slow and awkward against the sleek leather. She wished she had her wand. Eventually she managed to pry the strings from each other and felt exceptionally pleased with herself as the increasingly long lengths of cord slid over themselves with ease. As the corset came loose grains of silt and dirt fell onto the pristine whites of the girls’ dormitory sheets. In any other situation Hermione might have smirked at the allegory, but for now she was focused on removing the only solid barrier between her flesh and Bellatrix’s. As the soft core of Bellatrix was exposed, and the corset peeled away, a gasp fluttered from Hermione’s lips. The fabric of the woman’s dress slipped open, just enough, to reveal her tender breasts. At the sight Hermione’s desire was reawakened as she felt her body was desperate for release. The woman’s hands dragged at the collar of her shirt until Hermione felt the garment being slid off her wrists and the cool waves of disturbed air washing across her now almost naked torso let her know that Bellatrix had, in fact, thrown the shirt across the room. Nails clawed over her collar bones and down over her own breasts so hard that she was sure they would leave marks. Then she felt the woman’s fingers slip around to her back where they freed her from the last constraints of her clothing. As their torsos were once again pressed together Hermione felt the most sublime feeling of warmth at her chest as Bellatrix’s dress slipped open and allowed their most intimate of skins to touch. The warmth and heat and.. mortality of this woman, this Death Eater, this sadist, astounded her. For an instant Hermione wondered, if she kept stripping away the woman’s clothes, just how human she would become. Bellatrix’s hand deftly leapt to her waist where she drew her wand and confidently flicked it once or twice and Hermione was a little impressed when their clothes began to melt away like snow from their bodies. Revealed to her it was now - Bellatrix’s true form.

At first Hermione was startled at how like her own the dark witch’s body was. Though, realistically, what could she have been expecting? For all her crimes Bellatrix was still human, at least in a biological sense. Her skin looked as if it still bore the scars of Azkaban - she was deathly pale. A moment ago Bellatrix had seemed impervious to all things, immortal almost, she had seemed strong. But now looking at the body in front of her Hermione was almost sorry to have been so wrong as her eyes lingered on Bellatrix Lestrange’s delicate waist. She could see the muscles beneath the silken white skin flex and shift as the woman moved, even so slightly. She could see her ribs, as they expanded and contracted with each passing breath, with each inspiration and she could see the gentle creases of skin where she stooped down to kiss her. Hermione’s hands hesitantly glided over the defined shoulders as two bodies wrapped in infinitely warm skin settled against each other. She felt an incredible heat against her abdomen where Bellatrix’s core pressed against her. For this realisation Hermione’s body produced a whimper which was fed into their kiss. Hermione’s hands continued their exploration of the topography of the woman’s back, she was entranced by the two strips of muscle running either side of her spine, by the feint ridges at her sides.

In an achingly slow rhythm Bellatrix began grinding her core against Hermione’s abdomen, the slick heat of her love for this Mudblood becoming more and more apparent. The young witch was entranced as she felt the muscles of the woman’s back tense and relax in time with the impossible rhythm pressing into her abdomen. Hermione began to feel the skin of her stomach tugging as Bellatrix dragged her core more firmly over the flesh, the action sent jolts to her centre - but it wouldn’t be enough to grant release. Lips were sundered with a fleshy smack as Bellatrix arched her back, the action forcing their stomachs closer, granting her more leverage against Hermione’s abdominal wall. Hermione shifted her hands to the small of the woman’s back when she felt Bellatrix’s hands move to be gripping her shoulders, nails digging into her soft flesh. Waves of elation began to lave over her as Hermione allowed her body to be used like an object for the pleasure of Bellatrix Lestrange. The dark witch’s apparently strong legs began to squeeze her from both sides and from her vantage point Hermione could see the woman’s toes curling rhythmically in time with her thrusts.

Bellatrix became like a drug to her, she was totally intoxicated by her and at this point she wouldn’t deny anything to her as the right hand to Voldemort pressed her sex against Hermione’s stomach. No, there was nothing she wouldn’t give her. Hermione felt the weight across her hips shift suddenly as Bellatrix arched toward her, she found her face clasped between the woman’s hands as they were prised from her shoulders with cool relief as the purple pits dug by nails twinged in relief. She looked into the woman’s eyes, her pupils were dilated and seemed to Hermione at that moment to be the blackest thing she’d ever seen. Her gaze shifted from the left eye to the right not sure what to do next as she saw the woman’s eyes were filled with tears - though none were shed. Bellatrix’s face seemed to become glazed with rage suddenly, though her grip on the young witch’s face was still relatively gentle.

‘I hate you, Mudblood.’

Bellatrix’s words came out shaky and her breath hitched as she continued her pace against Hermione’s abdomen. The words were intended to keep her at a distance, to keep her away from the soft, pale and human Bellatrix that Hermione had discovered that night. Instead of being discouraged like Bellatrix almost wanted to be Hermione simply and confidently began sliding her hand down the dark witch’s stomach. The tips of her fingers sifted through coarse hair for a moment until they met quite the opposite - silken heat and wetness. She felt Bellatrix. The woman perched on her lap hissed at the sudden contact, but still urged Hermione closer. Hermione herself couldn’t help but moan as she felt how easily her fingers slid into the woman, at how absolutely surrounded she became inside her. The slickness pervaded her own carnal boundaries and she felt the lust of Bellatrix deep within herself. The feeling around her fingers was like honey, like when she used to eat it from the jar as a girl.

Bellatrix’s eyes fluttered shut and a throaty moan dragged from her mouth as Hermione was almost winded at the force with which the woman was now pushing against her. Hermione shifted slightly so that some of the sheer friction Bellatrix was producing would reach her core. She felt the hollow vessel open up within her and begin to fill once more - in time with the woman writhing on top of her. Looking out through her technicolour vision Hermione saw beads of diaphanous sweat formed on Bellatrix’s brow and a sudden surge of pride coursed through her. She was conquering Bellatrix. The woman began to constrict around her fingers, drawing her in further as Bellatrix’s moans began to sound more and more animalistic. Unable to handle how good this was feeling the dark witch moved her hands from Hermione’s face back to her shoulder where her nails sunk into the flesh once more. Hermione knew she would be covered in bruises and scratches when they were done, and she was proud. Hermione felt herself getting closer, she felt the heat building in her core and with every animalistic moan drawn from the older woman’s lips she was nudged even closer, it was as if their bodies were in complete harmony and unison. It was then that Hermione knew what it was to be bound by a thread of pleasure to Bellatrix Lestrange, in the Gryffindor dormitory. It was like she couldn’t control herself as all reason and rationality abandoned her, exploiting her own body to give pleasure to the sadist and in doing so they would become bound.

The moans coming from Bellatrix changed suddenly and Hermione knew that the witch was close, she wanted to make the witch come so hard that her whole Pureblood world would collapse around her. Hermione pushed herself, her fingers, more firmly into Bellatrix as she started fumbling around for something in her clothes. Time seemed to slow down considerably as Hermione started to climax. She heard, as if vicariously, Bellatrix’s breath starting to hitch in her throat. Hermione’s eyes focused on the dark witch writhing on top of her as waves of pleasure wrought havoc in her body - her hand around Bellatrix’s waist squeezed as hard as it could and her vision was bathed in pulses of blue and green. She felt the witch’s nails pierce her skin as the orgasming girl beneath her pushed her over the edge.

Faintly Hermione felt the tip of a wand pressed into her sternum, looking down she saw the familiar mottled wood of Bellatrix’s wand pointed at her heart as the witch started making the most amazing noises she had ever heard as waves of lust still pulsed throughout her own body. She felt the muscles around her fingers and under her hand tighten impossibly as Bellatrix’s pace increased finitely and amidst a hitched moan she was sure she heard the dark witch cry something;

‘Crucio.’

Instantly jolts of pain seared her chest and refracted and ricocheted all around her body, even while her climax continued, all in one will breaking moment her body held the two polarities of living and she wasn’t sure how long she could handle it. Reflexively Hermione’s fingers inside Bellatrix curled in pain and the woman finally climaxed as the Cruciatus Curse spewed from her wand pressed to the girl’s once pure flesh. The mixture of absolute pain and pleasure started making Hermione feel like she was going to throw up as a white shimmer clouded her vision. A ringing filled her ears as her limbs felt like they might float off if she didn’t do something about it soon. Suddenly solitude couldn’t come soon enough as she wanted to be rid of Bellatrix, of this awful feeling. Hermione felt so cold as everything went black.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione slowly became aware of herself. She felt the sheets pressed lightly to her flesh, she felt the waves of sleep slowly leave her. She felt the breath fall easily from her lungs. At least the Crucio hadn’t killed her, she thought. Around her she began to hear muffled voices. It sounded as if there was more than one person. Amidst the slurry of muffled sounds Hermione heard a voice she hadn’t expected to hear - she heard Madam Pomfrey’s voice. Her head, suddenly, was filled with questions and her heart sunk into her stomach when she realised that someone must have found her. Found her after… that !

‘Perhaps Bellatrix was decent enough to conceal her handiwork before she left…’ Hermione thought to herself.

Cautiously, still with her eyes closed, Hermione began to slide her arms from where they lay beside her beneath the sheets. Traversing over her chest, slower, slower. Nobody could see she was awake. Tentatively she let her fingers brush the tender skin of her shoulders where Bellatrix’s talons had dug into her flesh. Reflexively, she furrowed her brow in confusion upon finding her skin unscathed. The cardinal pits which Bellatrix had gouged into her shoulders had disappeared without even the slightest trace, the empty flesh wasn’t even sore to the touch. Hermione knew she was disappointed on discovering the marks had vanished - covered up - but in being rid of her carnal fragments of Bellatrix Hermione also knew that her being found unconscious in the Girl’s Dormitory, presumably naked, would be easier to explain.

Upon finding her shoulder in more or less perfect health Hermione, slowly still, moved her fingers to the centre of her chest where they pressed and prodded delicately against the thin veil of skin covering her sternum - where Bellatrix had held her wand. She expected, at the very least, to find this flesh hot to the touch, a burning sensation perhaps, a bruise or two maybe - but there was nothing. Hermione was impressed, for a moment, at the calibre of spell it must have taken to remove every trace of a Cruciatus curse. She lay still with her eyes closed, then, and recalled everything that had happened the night before. She remembered how warm and soft Bellatrix’s skin had been, she could never have imagined, at least before all this began, that sex with a Death Eater would feel so good. Hermione swallowed hard when she realised exactly what she had done. Regardless of her guilt, the all too familiar sensation of arousal manifested itself once more in her abdomen. Her head was instantly filled with images of exactly how Bellatrix had used her body the night before and, in remembering the woman’s sex coating her skin, she blushed. Sheepishly she slid her hand down her front and slipped it under the hem of her shirt - well at least she wasn’t still naked - carefully she inspected the taught skin she found there and she was horrified to find it clean. Bellatrix had covered Hermione in her scent like an animal marks its territory and now she had been stripped of that privilege, of that viscid privilege.

On covertly inspecting her body and finding it, grudgingly, removed of all traces of her night with Bellatrix, Hermione decided that it was safe to look conscious. Slowly she began to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt like sheets of metal and it took all of her willpower to prise them apart. Her vision was instantly met with blinding white light pouring in through the windows, it took a few moments of squinting into the glare for her vision to readjust. It felt as if she’d been dwelling in darkness for weeks and hadn’t seen the sun. Beneath the covers Hermione tried to stretch her legs, to rouse them into wakefulness, but her legs, too, felt like they were made of an equally dense and heavy metal. As if they’d not been moved in weeks, ‘perhaps,’ she thought, ‘perhaps I’m just fatigued from last night..’ Slowly she curled her toes on each foot and then relaxed them, letting the slow pace wake up the rest of the muscles in her legs before she tried to sit up. She bent her knees and felt them crack, like beams settling under the floor of a house.

Hermione’s stirring and shifting by now had attracted the keen eye of Madam Pomfrey, who came quickly over to her. She immediately placed her hand over Hermione’s forehead, just like her mother used to do, feeling for a fever.

“Oh, Hermione - you’re awake! We knew you would wake up any day now, it was quite the spell you took - but if there’s one thing I’ve learned while you’ve been a student at Hogwarts, it’s that you’re a very resilient young witch. After all, you got through that petrification alright - with the help of my Mandrake draught of course…”

Wait… Days? Had Madam Pomfrey just said days? Worried thoughts suddenly filled Hermione’s head, if she had been unconscious for days then surely the professors, and maybe even the Aurors, would have questions for her. ‘Quite the spell?’ Hermione thought to herself, suddenly realising that being unconscious for days without an explanation was the least of her worries if it was widely known that Hermione Granger took a spell to the chest in the Gryffindor Girl’s Dormitory. Why wasn’t Madam Pomfrey asking her questions about her attacker? Hermione was snatched from her thoughts when Madam Pomfrey began speaking again,

“Well you don’t seem to have a temperature and you’ve also got some good colour in your cheeks-”, perhaps blushing at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange grinding against her abdomen was a good thing after all, if it meant she looked healthy to the ever diligent Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione found herself staring blankly at this woman’s mouth as she continued talking about how much of a recovery she’d made. Hermione began to wonder again if it was Bellatrix who cleaned her up and healed her - she would admire the skill level of the dark witch if she could inflict such a devastating Cruciatus and clean up after herself, as it were, to leave not a single trace of a spell which made Hermione pass out with a stripped Bellatrix Lestrange writhing on top of her. At this thought she bit her lip tentatively to suppress the smirk she could feel creeping up her body. Deciding that perhaps it was better for her to listen to Madam Pomfrey than to recall anything more to do with Bellatrix.

“…so I shall send for Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley then. They both have been asking after you at least three times a day, if not more. You would think after all the collective time you three have spent in this Hospital Wing you should know the rules better than anyone…”

Hermione was relieved to see the woman walking off toward the nurses office, at least she had a few minutes to gather her thoughts before she would have to explain herself to Ronald and Harry. How would she face them after spending the break lusting after Bellatrix, the right hand to Voldemort. If it was all some plot by the Death Eaters to get information out of Hermione then it was unsuccessful - Bellatrix had revealed herself to Hermione and she wouldn’t be able to cover that up again, no matter how many times she called her Mudblood. While lying in bed waiting for Ron and Harry to arrive Hermione began to recount the days of the Christmas break, which had evaporated like steam in only a few moments. It was as if being fully occupied with Bellatrix made the days pass in blurs. She had no recollection between weeks, between days or between hours. It felt as if she had done nothing and everything at the same time.

The sound of footsteps jerked her from her thoughts as she saw her two friends run into the Hospital Wing.

“Hermione!” They both shouted excitedly in unison.

A smile spread across her lips in spite of her precarious situation, they were still her friends regardless of who she found insatiably attractive.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley - I’ll ask you to keep your voices down please, we do have other students who need rest.” Came Madam Pomfrey’s retort.

Hermione was struck with guilt to look Harry and Ron in the face, she had scarcely been able to think of anything else while in the clutches of Bellatrix and now that they, her friends, were stood in front of her she couldn’t help but feel ashamed at letting herself fall so helplessly for the Death Eater.

“Hermione, how are you feeling?” Harry reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah, Hermione, you alright?” Ron added.

Here she smiled, “Yes, thank you. I think I’ll feel better once I can go back to my own bed.”

“We should ask Madam Pomfrey if she’ll let you move back to the Girl’s Dormitory.” Harry said, confidently.

“Yeah, now that you’re awake the old bird can’t have too much reason keeping you here. I mean you look good. Well I mean, you look well.” Ron looked at the floor awkwardly, after putting his foot in his mouth.

“Uh.. Tell you what, Hermione, Ron and I will go ask Madam Pomfrey if you can be taken back upstairs.” Harry took the red faced Ron by the arm and led him over to where Madam Pomfrey was standing.

Hermione was relieved that neither of them had asked any questions, perhaps they were too embarrassed to ask why she was naked and unconscious in the Girl’s Dormitory when she was supposed to be the only student left in Gryffindor over the break. She would worry about social implications later, right now she wanted to get up to her bed and look for pieces of Bellatrix. She had a horrible sinking feeling, as if her stomach was filled with lead, about whether someone had touched her letters, or worse, read them.

“Miss Granger?” Hermione had a look of far off intent swept across her face which took Madam Pomfrey by surprise.

“Oh, sorry-” Here she was cut off.

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley inform me that you would be more comfortable in your own bed, is this true?” Her tone was sweet, but stern.

“I just thought that perhaps I ought to rest better if I were alone, you know, a bit of peace and quiet?”

“Alright Miss Granger, but only as long as you promise not to do too much - school work I mean, you’ll need plenty of rest to fully recover. No sense delaying a quick recovery with superfluous reading.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey, I promise I’ll get plenty of rest.”

“Good, I trust Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will be able to see you safely up to the dormitory? And remember, if you feel unwell at any time, just come back and see me.” Here she took her leave with a smile, as Ron and Harry stepped to her bedside.

“Brilliant.”

 

* * *

 

“Really, Ronald, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure, Hermione? We only just got you out of the Hospital Wing.” Ron ran his fingers through his orange hair.

“If there’s any problem you’ll let us know, won’t you?” Harry, always the caretaker.

“Of course.”

“Alright. Well, we’ll leave you to it then.”

“See you ‘mione.”

“Thanks Harry, thank you Ronald.”

Hermione settled into bed and pulled the covers over her legs, she wanted it to look as real as possible. Poised in silence she listened for the sound of a closing door and fading footsteps to let her know when it was safe to search her things. Flinging the covers off her legs, which still felt like great hunks of wood, Hermione slowly swung her feet off the side of the bed and rested them on the floor for a moment before turning toward her bedside table. Again a reflexive furrowing of the brow took her as she found the small table to be entirely in order. Nothing out of place and no loose papers anywhere. Slowly she wrapped her hands around the handle of the drawer and pulled it open, the breath she didn’t know she was holding released when she found the drawer to be empty. Quickly she closed it and opened the second, she was relieved to find her wand placed inside, like a creature in hiding, but still there were no notes, no scraps of paper. She couldn’t even find her notebook. Sighing deeply Hermione shifted her weight to the edge of the bed and lifted herself to her feet. For a moment she wasn’t sure if her knees were going to collapse beneath her, her night with Bellatrix had taken more out of her than she had realised. Hermione stood idle for a moment, not quite sure where to search next, she laid her eyes on the disappointing bedside table and then turned her attention to the bed. The site of it all. Carefully she pulled the covers off the bed, to reveal the achingly white sheets beneath them. Looking closely at the spots she knew were previously covered in dirt Hermione was irritated to find them pristine. Anxiously biting her lip, fearing that all traces of Bellatrix were lost, she stooped to the floor as her shaky knees pressed against the firm wood. Nothing. Not even a grain of dirt. Someone might have thought nothing of the papers, thought nothing of the dirty sheets. Rage overcame her then, at the thought of someone taking her notes from Bellatrix, taking them and… burning them. If only they knew. If only they knew what they’d touched and who had touched it before them.

 

* * *

 

The amorphous slurry of food shifted around her plate, Hermione prodded the slurry from one side of the dish to the other. There had been something which resembled a meal there only a few minutes ago but after merciless cutlery masticating it had turned into the brownish mush before her. In her own mind Hermione tried piecing together what happened to her things and what happened between passing out from a Cruciatus Curse and waking up in the Hospital Wing without any sort of questioning from anyone.

“You right ‘mione?” Ron managed to splutter over his full mouth.

“I’m fine Ronald, I’m just not terribly hungry tonight.”

Hermione’s eyes began scanning over the Great Hall, over all the students heads as they ate and occasionally coming to rest on another table’s serving of food. Of course, it was all the same. She glanced over to the Hufflepuff table and saw a group of young witches pointing at her and speaking amongst themselves. Almost instantly her eyes shot from this group of girls to nothing in particular, she didn’t want to look at them too long, in case they saw through her guilty conscience. Though, they had a right to talk, she was hit in the chest with a spell inside Hogwarts over the winter break. The safest place to look, then, became the mess on her plate and she continued to aimlessly push the goop from left to right.

“Do either of you know who saw to my things while I was in the Hospital Wing?” Hermione said, not looking up from her plate.

“Well, Ron put your wand back in th-”

“Yeah, I put your wand away, thought you might need it.” Ron interrupted, his mouth somehow still full of food.

“Was there anything else around when you did that Ronald? I seem to have misplaced a notebook.”

“Nup, I took your wand up there right after you were admitted to Pomfrey. I could come up before bed and help you have a look if you want?”

“Uh, no, thank you. I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.” Hermione knew what ‘helping her look for a notebook’ meant to Ronald - and she didn’t want that. Not with him.

“ ‘kay.” He took a swig of pumpkin juice and returned to his food.

Hermione’s heart sunk, she felt betrayed. It must have been Bellatrix who took her notes and cleaned the bed. It was Bellatrix who’d cast a healing charm to cover the marks. Each of the tokens that she’d worked so hard to get a hold of were stripped of her. She didn’t imagine Bellatrix as sentimental. She imagined Bellatrix would have thrown the notes out. She would have laughed.

 

* * *

 

Months and weeks had gone by and nothing from Bellatrix. No word. Hermione had almost stopped counting the days since their night together, stopped looking out the window in hopes of seeing that black figure float up from the Forest. Well, almost. The bustling walls of Hogwarts must have been keeping her away, there were too many students around for her to sneak into the castle unnoticed. Of course, why would she risk capture just to see some… here, she swallowed hard, Mudblood. No one had questioned her about what happened that night, Hermione was thankful for that and so she mentioned nothing more of it. She felt so abandoned, and for feeling abandoned she also felt silly. Deep down a voice asked her what was she honestly expecting from Bellatrix. To change her ways? To switch sides during the war and lead the Aurors to victory? No, Bellatrix would never and Hermione was silly for thinking, even for a second, that she might. When she found herself in idleness the same thoughts surfaced and prodded her. They always left such a bitter taste in her mouth. Such a bitter and lonesome taste.

Hermione had developed a habit, over the past few months, of tenderly stroking the spot of flesh where Bellatrix’s wand had injected her with the Cruciatus Curse. Though there was no scar and no pain she still felt connected to the dark witch every time she touched it. It wasn’t entirely unlike Harry and his connection to Voldemort - though, Hermione wasn’t trying to kill Bellatrix. At least not yet, but she knew that it would come to that eventually. In stripping this dark witch, this Death Eater, to her core Hermione thought maybe she had taken too much from the woman and now she would try and regain control. By keeping her at an arms distance. Bellatrix’s coldness was all the more frustrating to Hermione who knew just how not-cold she could be. Sighing, she slowly slipped her finger between the buttons of her shirt to stroke the soft flesh of her sternum, she pressed her nail into the skin, until it stung. She didn’t like the pain, but it was all she had.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione stood as if her feet were anchored to the floor. The muscles in her legs twitched and prised the bottom of her shoe from the ground - but move she did not. It was as if she were trapped in a tiny glass box, with just enough room to shuffle her feet. She would have wished for a box to hide in, really, at this particular time. As she was, Hermione’s eyes remained, like her feet, glued to the boards. She focused on the bleak floor, with its lacquer and black film. The suitably bleak floor for a bleak house, which was filled with creatures that had deathly pale skin - ‘Purebloods’ they called themselves.

Across the floor, the same one Hermione was standing on, Bellatrix Lestrange was holding Harry by the head. His body awkwardly beneath him as the Death Eater held his bloated face up for Draco to see, with a look of glee. While Hermione’s eyes skittered over Bellatrix’s warped features she became deaf to all things, before her she could see people’s lips moving and their clothes rustling but the only sound to pass through her ears was a low humming noise that synchronised with the woman’s articulation. She began to feel dizzy, as if the whole world was shifting on its axis and she were the only one to notice. Hermione’s pulse fluttered in her neck and in her stomach, she felt as if in any moment she might implode in on herself in total silence - ceasing to exist in this room any longer. Her breath sucked into her mouth over her lips and down her throat like a dense syrup, like a bleach white molasses that tasted exactly like the fetid house she was held captive in. It had been longer than she cared to count since she’d seen Bellatrix last, since she was left in the Hospital Wing with no word from the dark witch. Hermione knew she still felt something for the woman, not just anyone could have made her stomach lodge in her throat.

Standing paralysed toward the back of the dim and sullen room Hermione was overcome with heartache as she looked over Bellatrix and realised how many details about the woman she had forgotten. She had forgotten how tactile and formed her pale skin was, how dark her eyes were - they were like hunks of jet set in her head; the jaw, which jutted out a little with its square build. She had forgotten the curves of the witch’s body, the languid contours which comprised her hips; her waist; her neck. Hermione observed, as if hypnotised, the Death Eater’s lips forming each syllable and each letter as she spoke, a row of yellow teeth revealed itself to Hermione. They were a very particular shade of yellow which she had somehow forgotten to remember.

Hermione’s thoughts suddenly gathered and she found herself in the present again. Lucius was yelling something to the snatchers, with a look of rage across his face. Hermione also became aware then of an arm like a piece of lumber across her chest and the foul smell of stale saliva at her back. Beside her Ron was fighting his captor but she stood quietly, waiting to see what Bellatrix would do next.

“Luciussss!” A blonde woman, what can only be described as, slithered out from the shadows and put her hand on Lucius’ shoulder - Hermione knew her as Narcissa Malfoy and she was exceptionally like a snake. She could see the resemblance between Bellatrix and this woman, they both had that look about them, in their eyes and in the way they walked.

Draco was pulled down toward Harry’s bloated face, Bellatrix’s eyes going wide in expectation of an answer. Hermione was baffled, to say the least, to be around this woman again, she had spent so long thinking about her, that there were some days she could scarcely fathom the idea of Bellatrix as a person, rather than just a series of memories. While the woman was occupied with trying to get Draco to identify the disfigured Harry, Hermione looked straight into the witch’s eyes, in hopes of catching her attention. In hopes of establishing a connection.

“What’s wrong with his face?” Bellatrix suddenly piped. “Was it you two?” Here, she turned to face Hermione and Ron.

Bellatrix began to take slow and well calculated steps toward the two, her wand raising from her side. Hermione’s stomach, which was still lodged in her throat, became filled with butterflies and a nervous churning.

“Give me her wand. Let’s see what her last spell was.” The woman came closer and closer, though she was still relatively far away, Hermione still held eye contact with the woman, which went, apparently, unnoticed by the dark witch.

“Got you.” Bellatrix started giggling in her usual, sadistic way, which always made Hermione’s tongue curl. As the woman laughed she lowered her wand and pointed, in a strikingly friendly way towards Ron and herself, at the same time her eyes flicked across the room until they rested with Hermione’s for a moment as Bellatrix smirked. The young, and captive, witch felt like she was about to explode as her heart slammed in her chest and her legs became like columns of electricity.

Instead of walking over to Hermione, Bellatrix wandered straight past her and toward a snatcher at the very back of the room. She narrowed her eyes at him, for diverting Bellatrix.

Suddenly her ears were filled with a hissing noise as the dark witch got closer to the snatcher. Hermione, as much as she wanted to focus on what was happening, began to drift in and out of clarity as her hearing once again became muffled and her vision was encircled with blur. She saw Bellatrix mouthing something to the snatcher, pointing at the sword hanging from his belt, and then, without warning, Bellatrix made great gestures with her arms and wand which left the thin man gasping for breath on the floor. She moved, like a viper, from one snatcher to the other and with an incredibly loud noise he, too, was left on the floor. Around her, Hermione was aware of everyone, even the Malfoys, taking a step back - they were afraid of Bellatrix, and who could blame them. She’d caught a taste of blood.

“Get out! Get out!!” Bellatrix released the snatchers from her grip and screamed, carnally, as they crawled on their hands and knees out of the Manor. Hermione couldn’t help but be pleased they were gone, two fewer people to contend with for Bellatrix’s attention.

Suddenly, like a pair of crows, Bellatrix and Narcissa closed in on Hermione and Ron, Narcissa with her wand raised. Hermione’s heart palpated in her chest as the two witches got nearer. Bellatrix’s eyes flicked to make contact with her own, for a tiny moment, before turning their gaze to Ron. Hermione became instantly jealous and felt betrayed when the dark witch took a hold of his shirt and pulled him toward the centre of the room. Hermione, by some wishful inertia leant forward too, hoping to be taken wherever Bellatrix was going. As the woman leaned in for Ron, even though fear coursed through her body, Hermione couldn’t help but close her eyes for a moment and inhale Bellatrix. The woman’s scent came to pool at the base of her spine, sending shivers through her whole body. The dark witch’s scent had changed over the past while - perhaps the fetid walls of Malfoy Manor were getting their sullen, grey claws into her and marking her.

“I want to have a little.. Conversation with this one. Girl to girl!” Hermione’s eyes widened as Bellatrix came storming over to her, with a wild look.

Hermione’s heart felt like it was suddenly exploding inside of her. Her mouth became insufferably dry and breathing seemed, then, to stop being an automatic function. Bellatrix came closer to her, their faces only inches apart. Hermione, unable to resist the dark witch, leaned forward slightly as her eyes jerked down to the older woman’s lips and back up to the glassy black depths again. Bellatrix looked at her with a unique mixture of anger and familiarity. Closer still, the woman stooped, as Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. Bellatrix’s eyebrow raised almost instantly, she heard the sound of breath catching and still she looked furious.

“Pleased to see me are you?” Came her low retort, “You won’t be so happy soon.”

Bellatrix’s clawed hand reached out and took hold of the front of Hermione’s clothes. The dark witch was much stronger than she looked, something Hermione had learned long ago, and the girl was almost scooped entirely off her feet. With her free hand Bellatrix lifted up her wand and started brushing the hard tip of it over Hermione’s face, trailing the object down her jaw and pushing it harder into the soft flesh of her lip. Again, Hermione’s breath came in staggers as the wand, an extension of Bellatrix, nudged at her lip, which fell open a little at the contact. Though she was still afraid of what was to come next her body clearly had other priorities. Hermione’s eyes drifted down toward the woman’s lips and she could now see that Bellatrix was smirking as usual. Slowly, the wand began to urge it’s way down her neck as the Death Eater’s eyes followed it’s tip intently. In an effort to regain control over her body, which was far too responsive to the dark witch’s vicarious touch, Hermione looked around the room, with it’s bleak walls and bleak floor. At some point Narcissa, Lucius and Draco had left the room, perhaps they knew not to cross Bellatrix’s path when she was interrogating Mudbloods.

Hermione became aware, then, of where Bellatrix was moving her wand. Instantly her eyes snapped back to the woman, who’s wand at that exact moment pressed against the veil of flesh coating her sternum where she had once administered a Cruciatus Curse. Bellatrix’s features twisted until a sinister smile came across her face. Adrenaline pumped through Hermione’s body instinctively, her nervous system recalling the awful pain which had once wracked her. Swiftly, Bellatrix swooped in and pressed her mouth against Hermione’s ear, who let out a noise of surprise at the unexpected action. She hadn’t been around the Death Eater for some time and had forgotten just how erratic and intense she was. With the wand still pressed against her chest Hermione’s pulse soared and she felt her head becoming light, she knew what was coming.

Bellatrix’s hot breath laved against her ear as a whisper, “Crucio.”

Immediately, Hermione slumped against the dark witch who was still supporting her weight. There seemed to be, at the moment when the spell soared throughout her limbs, a disproportionate amount of force to the audible volume of the cantation. Hermione clenched her teeth and screwed her eyes shut as screams of pain dropped from her lips. Suddenly Bellatrix stepped back and let Hermione fall to the hard floor, her knees buckling beneath her. A hand came up to her chest and clutched at the flesh there as she coughed, spluttered and retched. Somehow it was worse the second time around.

Bellatrix bent at the knees and gathered Hermione’s hand within her own. Reflexively the girl’s fingers wrapped themselves around the dark witch’s slight hand as she was dragged to the middle of the room. As soon as Bellatrix let go of her hand Hermione pooled on the floor, like a puddle of human, still clutching her chest and coughing. The woman circled her like prey as she writhed on the floor, Bellatrix nudged Hermione with the side of her boot. Tears began to spill from her eyes from the pain throbbing inside of her. In the face of this woman she ultimately felt incredibly silly for crying, afraid it would make her feel weak and her predator, her sadist, would lose interest in her.

“What’s the matter, Hermione, Muddy, dear, you don’t want to play anymore?” Came Bellatrix’s almost sincere response to the trembling girl in front of her.

Somewhere, in the back of Hermione’s mind, she noticed Bellatrix’s use of the name ‘Muddy,’ something she hadn’t been called for what seemed like years, and something she didn’t want anyone else to call her. It was almost like Bellatrix’s way of telling her not to worry and to trust her.

The Gryffindor Lion roared in her chest and Hermione felt compelled to get up. She brought her legs under herself and was just about to push her body up to a standing position when Bellatrix spoke again -

“No, no, no!” Here, the witch leant down and whispered to Hermione, “I’ve always rather fancied you on your back.” In spite of the young witch being, still, in incredible pain Bellatrix’s tone was light and playful and she let out a low giggle as she rose again to her feet.

Slowly lifting her foot again the dark witch pushed Hermione with her foot, a fleshy smack echoing around the room as her body hit the wood. Confused, Hermione lay motionless for a moment as Bellatrix’s gaze pinned her to the floor. The woman began circling around her, dragging her limbs asunder and spreading the girl out on the floor. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to make of her new position and decided to stay still - lest she have Crucio cast on her again.

“Now don’t move a muscle.” Bellatrix had a playful air about her voice.

Lying completely spread out on the floor, with the after effects of a Crucio still crawling through her, Hermione found it hard to believe that this woman was the same person who she had chased through the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps in the time they had spent apart Bellatrix changed, serving the Dark Lord may have twisted her even more. Hermione also considered their last moments together. The Death Eater had been totally exposed and vulnerable, perhaps she felt like she had to regain her dominance and regain her pride.

Hermione’s stomach quivered with fear as the woman circled around her with a look of rage in her eyes, though, when she spoke it was with a mischievous tone.

“What did I say about moving, little Mudblood?” Bellatrix paused and looked Hermione right in the eyes, before lifting her wand again. “Crucio.”

This Crucio hit her in the chest as if the dark witch had dropped an infinitely heavy block of stone onto her. She felt as if all the blood in her body was being squeezed into an exceedingly small point, black specks clouded her vision as she struggled to draw in breath while she screamed involuntarily. It felt like her body was being drained of all it’s vital fluids. Of it’s life.

Bellatrix descended onto Hermione rapidly, her legs coming to rest either side of the girl’s hips. The feeling was familiar to Hermione, who was still red in the face and struggling to breathe. Had she been in a more composed mind Hermione may have reached out and touched the older witch, but she remained still. Bellatrix stooped and brought her mouth close to the girl’s ear again, who couldn’t help but lean into the woman. Hermione’s heart began to palpate beneath her sternum as her breath returned, her chest heaving with each intake of air.

Suddenly, Bellatrix‘s surprisingly calm voice came to her ear, “I’ve got some sad news for you my little thieving Muddy, so I want you to listen very closely. Are you ready?” Bellatrix exhaled warm air into the mass of auburn strands before speaking again, “I know you’d like to think that we had a secret love affair, but truthfully - it was all in your mind.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed and her mind began rapidly scanning through what Bellatrix could possibly mean. She was almost glad when the woman spoke again,

“You see, at the Ministry, you let your filthy Mudblood eyes linger on me for too long and so I thought I would teach you some manners. That and I wanted spoil this ‘goody-goody’ act you insist on shoving in everyone’s faces.” Here, she put on a sarcastic voice, mocking Hermione, “Look at me I’m Hermione Granger and I know all the answers!” Here she returned to normal, “It wasn’t hard, you practically invited me inside your head when you looked at me how you did.”

Adrenaline started surging through Hermione’s body as she very loosely grasped what Bellatrix was talking about, though then, she was unable to fathom the scale of the thing.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? They told me you were bright.” Bellatrix snorted.

“At the Ministry, you took a wayward spell,” Here she feigned innocence, “to the head and were knocked out indefinitely. While you were out I simply wriggled my way into your mind and made myself at home.” Here Bellatrix pretended her fingers were a little pair of legs and walked them, proudly, smugly, over Hermione’s forehead.

Hermione’s whole world began to quiver and wain as she realised what had happened, her breathing slowed and her heart felt like it had long since stopped beating. Bellatrix continued,

“What made you think that a witch of my calibre, of my status, would want to fuck a filthy little girl like you. You’re disgusting.” Her tone became wrought with malice and hate.

It was at that precise moment which Bellatrix broke Hermione. An incredible pain swelled in her chest and, for a split second, Hermione thought that it might be a wordless Crucio. Hermione was suddenly horrified to be pinned beneath this woman, this creature and started squirming, trying to prise her body from this crushing weight. Bellatrix’s hand came between them and took a hold of Hermione’s face, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks, which drew another scream from the young witch.

“I bet you wish they taught Occlumency at Hogwarts now, don’t ya?” Bellatrix giggled as she watched the girl beneath her writhing in the most unimaginable pain.

Hermione was still trying to shove Bellatrix off her while her heart was haemorrhaging in her chest. Her body filled with a burning sensation and she cried tears of rage and of sorrow. The dark witch laughed and mocked Hermione by fake crying and then leaned in closer and licked the girl’s cheek with the full length of her tongue. Hermione made a noise of disgust as Bellatrix sat up and then got off of the young witch’s lap, who was left sobbing on the floor as an empty vessel. She could hardly comprehend moving at that moment, it felt as if something had stabbed her in the chest, but had not killed her. This hurt more than any spell. At least Avada Kedavra killed you after it was done.

“And do you know what the best part is, Hermione?” Bellatrix cooed from the side of the room, smiling and clearly pleased with herself. “After a while you started imagining things into my Legilimency, isn’t that brilliant? You had no idea! Those stupid little notes! ” Cackles erupted from the Death Eater and echoed around Hermione, the woman she now wanted nothing to do with was inescapable, she would have preferred having Crucio cast again and again on her than this. Every word she spoke was like a tightening band around her chest and Hermione felt as if at any moment her ribs might break.

“Hermione Granger - dug her own grave!” The laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, Death Eater, sadist and criminally insane filled her head. She just wanted it all to end, to be put out of her misery.

Somewhere in the back of her head a tiny, remorseful murmur, in a voice which wasn’t her own uttered, simply, ‘Oh… to be an Occlumens.’

 

* * *

 

When Dobby died after apparating them out of Malfoy Manor Hermione felt nothing. She stared at his tiny lifeless body and couldn’t muster any more pain, she looked to the sea and wanted to walk out into the waves and disappear beneath them. Sinking deep into the ocean. Until there was no light. No sensation. Suspended only in the blackness. There was nothing left to feel.

Hermione knew Ron and Harry would never ask her about what Bellatrix had done - and for that she was glad.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

She was a good girl - but I couldn’t love her. This was the only way. 

If I weren’t a masochist I wouldn’t have been able to break her. If I weren’t a sadist I wouldn’t have been able to do it. 

It had been a long time since anyone had payed me that sort of attention. This girl’s eyes so shamelessly looking at me. Challenging me. Usually, people were afraid of me, of the things I had done. But not her. When I chased her down the aisles as a ball of smoke I had felt the girl slow down, she was so willing, even in the face of certain death. She was a Gryffindor, after all. For a brief moment we had been connected, I was vapour and she let me have her. I wrapped my hands around her neck, felt her hair and her back. This connection, this moment, it exposed me. It left me ruined. It was as if our bodies shared a visceral affinity, stronger than even the darkest of magic. I couldn’t allow it. 

Instead, I made a plan to invade the poor girl’s mind, but I would have to convince her it was real. In the act of Legilimency I felt, vicariously, what it was like to touch, hold and kiss the young witch - things which I would be killed for, by both sides, were they realised. I had to construct a Hogwarts that Hermione would have believed, from my own memories. It would be a place for the girl to dwell in while I wasn’t around. I recalled the labyrinthine halls, the endless stone passageways, the huge diaphanous windows coating every surface, it was enough. Hermione would need to be guided to this phantasmal reality by someone she trusted, so she might in turn trust this envisioned castle. I hardly knew any of the girl’s friends, aside from their defensive jaunts, so I would have an Auror escort her there. Nymphadora Tonks, Andromeda’s daughter. I had heard she was exactly like her mother. After a time Hermione began building into my Legilimency and putting things into my head. Though, she didn’t know it. Sometimes it was things about Hogwarts which I couldn’t possibly have remembered and sometimes it was glances, words and touches. Sometimes she would imagine me into places I had never been. 

It took an enormous amount of control to keep Hermione under and keep her believing. I’m sure if she knew the energy my Legilimency took she would be impressed. The girl could appreciate the strength of magic regardless of its alignment. Narcissa began to ask me if I was distracted with something, where my mind had been. If only she knew. ‘Cissy, I’ve been inside the head of the girl who punched your snivelling little son in the face…’ 

At night when I slept our visceral connection would intensify. Our minds became joined and it was as if I was really with Hermione. I could feel everything, hear everything and smell everything. In believing my phantasmal Hogwarts the girl made it seem all the more real when I visited her. It was like wordless magic, everything was exactly how it should be. But I needed the pain to get off, I needed to hurt her, to see her squirming under my Crucio. It was incredible. 

The morning after, when I woke up, was when I decided to end it. The girl was too close. 

Waking her up and not causing damage was the hard part, she had been under for so long. I felt it though, when she did wake. It was so quiet in my head, so empty. I had to make sure Hermione would never want to connect with me again, mentally or otherwise. I had to hurt her, badly. 

Now here she was, real as my dreams, crying on the floor, clutching at her chest. Over and over again I cast Crucio on her. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, at least deep down. My spells would leave a mark on her, right in the centre of her chest. I would be with her body forever. I had been told that Legilimency was dangerous, that the invader’s mind became just as vulnerable as the invaded’s and as an excruciating pain pulsed throughout my body I couldn’t have understood that more. We were linked then, I could feel her pain. Every sob from her came through me. 

When she apparated with the others and that elf I had to be sure, I threw a dagger into their incomprehensible churning and when they were gone I felt nothing, I heard nothing. 

It was in that moment I knew she hated me.


End file.
